Tilting The Balance
by KColl2003
Summary: When the balance is tipped in the favour of the forces of good, W&H react badly.
1. Chapter 1

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (1/?)**

Title: Tilting The Balance

Rating: R (For Language later)

Relationships: X\F

Story: Action\Adventure

Feedback: In lieu of a Faithbot yeah.

E-Mail:

**Disclaimer: **If I own the characters, why have Faith and Cordelia escaped? Woe is me. Consider anything and everything up to Not Fade Away as canon. As for those contradictory, poorly-written, and ill-conceived comics. Forget it.

"Let's go to work."

Spike swallowed as he watched the army approach. Even with the rain shrouding their approach, the size of their enemy was undeniable. "I was hoping for a better plan than that, mate," he snarked even as he glanced towards Gunn. Even without his human frailties, he'd lay a good few quid on the African-American lasting the shortest. Even now he could sense the American's heartbeat growing weaker, and hear his breath growing shallower.

"Okay then," Spike was surprised at Angel's sudden cocksure smirk. "How about this?" Spike's eyes narrowed when Angel pulled out a pager and pressed down on it. "Send the troops in, Giles."

* * *

Kennedy looked over her shoulder to Vi and Rona, standing before their dozen fellow Slayers. "Just got the signal," she confirmed, hoping she managed to keep the distaste from her voice. It was great seeing other Sunnydale veterans again, but these were hardly ideal circumstances. "Remember, open fire the moment the signal's given." Her order was greeted with the sound of safeties clicking off.

* * *

"Signal's here." Xander fought back his own misgivings about the mission to glance at his second-in-command.

Faith hadn't stop moaning about the incessant downpour since they'd arrived, but now the feisty beauty's eyes gleamed with an infectious enthusiasm that had him grinning in return even though he didn't share her eagerness. "Wicked," the brunette flicked her full mane back before glancing over her shoulder to the nervously waiting fifteen Slayers stood behind her. "Remember the plan and most of all, what's Xander's golden rule."

"Don't get killed!" the girls chorused.

"Wicked," Faith winked at him. "Like your very own army of brainwashed jailbait."

"Perish the thought." Xander shuddered as he pulled out a detonator and flipped a switch.

* * *

"Giles? What the -." Spike's question was cut short when the ground shuddered underfoot, the sky briefly brightening as the alley's walls fell in on the advancing forces' vanguard, burying them beneath. And then the next few dozen demons were torn apart under gunfire, their body parts and blood soaking the alley.

Angel spoke the moment their benefactors' guns fell silent. "Time to go to work."

* * *

The moment their guns fell silent, Faith let out a whoop as she drew her axe. "Remember the golden rule!" she hollered before gliding forward, Mossberg 590 dropped back in its holster and battle-axe eagerly drawn.

A hulking troll, ichor already leaking from several wounds lunged out of the night's swirling gunsmoke. Faith glided under its gnarled, grasping hands then lunged up, axe swinging up and into the beast's prominent jaw. Bone shattered before steel, the monster letting out a strangled roar as its blood soaked the Slayer beneath it.

And then she was moving on, her own blood joyfully pounding. A hand grabbed at the shoulder of her leather jacket, she responded with a rib-cracking kick without missing a beat, the sword in her other hand slicing out to take a head.

Her full mane billowed as she leapt over a demonic corpse, axe cleaving down to imbed itself in the skull of another troll. Upon landing she was ducking under a four-armed demon's swinging claws, thrusting at the solitary eye in the centre of its belly.

"Owwww!" Faith grunted as a stone-plated fist crashed into her jaw.

Hitting the ground on her shoulder, she rolled away from a three-pronged foot attempting to stamp her pretty little ass into the concrete before thrusting her blade up and through the demon's foot. The demon let out a roar as it hopped backwards, Faith taking advantage of the distraction to kip up. Quelling her distaste, she launched a side-kick through the distracted monster's eye, what she hoped was blood erupting from the eye as it fell away.

"Oh shit!" Faith's eyes widened as a towering juggernaut of a demon raced towards her, smoking billowing from its flaring nostrils. A series of urgently executed back-flips took her back to the dead demon with her axe in its head. Her sweaty hand grabbed at the axe, eyes still fixed on the charging behemoth. Then she was yanking the axe out of the demon's head and flinging it through the dark, windswept sky, the axe imbedding itself between the demon's glowing red eyes.

And just like that, the battle was over.

"Bugger me!" Faith heard Spike's snigger. "Droopy's runnin' Slayers now! Just how far down does the barrel go anyway?"

Faith caught a glimpse of Xander's wince and then she was beside the still smirking vampire. "Spike?" she purred.

"Yeah love, uggggh." The demon's smirk turned to a grimace as her foot caught him between his legs, lifting him off his feet even as he doubled up, the demon crashing to the ground in a foetal ball.

As Faith dropped into a crouch beside the doubled-up vampire, Faith saw Illyira moving forward out of the corner of her eye. "Girls, interference," she snapped, she was gratified that in a nano-second, almost thirty Slayers were between her and the resurrected Old One.

"You bloody bint," groaned Spike.

"Language." Turning her attention back to Spike, she grabbed his bleached hair and drove his head into the road. "Just between you and me, Xander ain't droopy, although you might have problems in that area for a couple of days," she sniggered before turning serious. "Only one soulled vampire gets a pass from me, and it ain't you. You disrespect my man again and I'll turn you into dust."

"Jesus," the vampire rasped, "can't take a joke?"

"From a friend sure," Faith replied. "But I don't get wet at the sight of abs, I hear you disrespecting the man I love again, I'll stake your miserable ass just for the practice. We on the same page?" The vampire glared up at her then nodded.

"Faith," Angel called, his voice thinly amused. "You've made your point."

"Not quite finished, Broody," Faith replied before looking down at the vampire. "I heard about the shit you pulled in Sunnydale. You ever try anything with me, my girls, or hurt a single person I care about, and I'll have a hundred Slayers who've never screwed you hunting you down. B, the smurf, not even Angel will stop us. Got it?"

When the vampire nodded, Faith rose, the demon already forgotten. "Hey, Fang, glad we could get here."

Angel smirked at her. "Making friends as usual I see-," the vampire broke off, face paling, "oh hell. "Gunn!" In a second the vampire was past her, crouching by the black's corpse, cradling the dead demon hunter in his arms.

"Shit," Faith's stomach hollowed. She'd only met the African-American once, but he'd seen like a stand-up guy. "Sorry we didn't -."

"Half-Breed!" Faith's hackles rose at Illyria's snooty tones. Yeah, she'd liked Fred too, girl wasn't like some bitches she could mention and didn't judge someone off the bat. "You had these forces available to you, and yet you didn't call upon them before. Wesley could have been saved!"

All at once, the Old One had Angel by the throat and in the air, smashing into a wall. "Girls!" Faith growled as she jumped forward. All told it took five of them to drag Illyria off the ensoulled vampire, girl packed a whole lot of power into that skinny body.

Angel grunted as he hit the ground in a crouch, the Old One staring balefully at him, struggling in the Slayers' grasps. "It didn't go down like that," the vampire explained. "I couldn't risk sending for the Slayers until just before the attack, if the Black Thorns had known that a couple of dozen Slayers were in their city, they'd have pulled back and we'd have lost our shot."

"Just how long have you and Rupert," Spike shot her a wary glance before looking back at his grand-sire, "been planning this? It is Rupert, isn't it?"

Angel grimaced. "We met a week after we took control of W&H. In the Hyperion's basement as it happened."

"No-one knew at our end until today," Faith put in. "Xan got the phone call, what fourteen hours ago. We used the teleportation tunnels Red's set up to transfer to Cleveland, got our orders and high-tailed it on a flight to 'Frisco, then motored down here."

"But Dana-," Spike began.

Angel shot his grand-childe a scornful look. "Did you seriously think I was going to give a vulnerable girl like that over to W&H's tender charms?" Faith's mentor shook his head. "Giles and I had organised where she was going long before Andrew turned up." Angel snorted. "Did you really think Giles would send Andrew to do anything but get a bottle of milk unless he wanted someone gullible?"

"What about?" Spike looked towards Illyria and then back at the Irish vampire. "Her?"

Angel's eyes narrowed. "I rang Giles before I gave that public performance in front of you all. What he said to me was true, Willow was on an astral plane, and as she was the only one amongst us actually physical capable of travelling there, there was no way of getting a message to Willow to help in time, if she even could." Angel shrugged. "Giles suggested we use the opportunity to publicly display the supposed gulf between us."

"Damn," Faith whistled, "G can be cold."

"We need to get you to Giles," Xander suddenly commented.

Angel looked towards Gunn's corpse. "I need to bu-."

"We've got body-bags, we'll bring him with us," Faith interrupted. Angel looked at her, eyes widening with surprise. "Hey," she half-smiled, "this is a fuckin' war, we better be organised if we don't wanna be owned."

"Okay," Angel nodded, his eyes suddenly flooding with alarm. "My son-."

"I've got three of my girls watching him," Kennedy interrupted. "They've been on him since he left the Wolfram & Hart building."

"Okay," Angel's shoulders slumped, poor guy looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Let's get on with it-."

"I would have Wesley entombed in the traditions befitting a warrior of his stature," interrupted Illyria.

"I'll take you to him," Xander volunteered.

Faith rolled her eyes. That was her man, always leaping in to help a woman in need, no matter the danger or wisdom of the situation. "Ken, you take Ron and Vi, and go with them, just in case there's stragglers." And to protect Xander from the Old One, she didn't trust that bitch as far as she could throw her. "I'll take Angel and," a smirk stretched her full lips, "Droopy to the plane, meet ya there."

* * *

Cleveland, Watcher Headquarters

Giles looked up as Angel entered his office. The Watcher was sat behind a long desk in a wide office, the desk well-organised in typically Gilesesque manner. "Please," the Englishman covered the phone he was talking into, "take a seat." Once Angel had sat, the Council head continued his discussion before hanging up. "That was Willow, she said hi. Those backdoor codes you gave us came in handy," Giles continued. "The moment you signalled your attack had begun, Willow hacked their bank accounts and stole every cent. It was a very successful bank job."

The Watcher's smile disappeared. "I understand you lost Wesley and Charles Gunn?" Giles sighed at his tight nod. He sighed. "A real shame." The Englishman's expression turned professional again. "This last year has been a veritable whirlwind. Once we secured the Council's bank accounts, I've, we've, hardly stopped. Our first priority has been recruiting as many of the new Slayers as are interested as possible and training new Watchers. We've considerably changed the standards, less worrying about education and family lines, and more about skills and experience. In addition to that we've been making alliances, finding regional offices, and recruiting Special Operations agents. As a result, we haven't actually done much demon hunting as of yet. However, now we're something approaching ready, and I think a priority has to be the other Black Thorns."

"Other Black Thorns?" Angel queried.

Giles raised an eyebrow. "You didn't think that The Circle Of Black Thorn was a purely Los Angeles phenomenon? Not with the Wolfram & Hart offices spread across the world. It's simply colonial arrogance to think the world revolves around them, but the world is far older and historically long pre-dates their ascension as primary power in the world. We're in a war now Angel, one that's perhaps akin to the Cold War rather than World War II, but I don't doubt it'll be a bloody one nevertheless. Before W&H were unquestionably the solitary super-power, now there are two. I'm sure they'll react badly to that fact, and I had hoped to get the drop on them."

"Um, you have a point," Angel grimaced. "Sorry, I was too busy trying to stay alive to concentrate any effort on intelligence gathering."

"Very well," Giles looked less than impressed with his answer. "When you informed me of Drogyn's demise, I took the liberty of securing the Deeper Well. From now on, I'll have four Slayers on permanent patrol there."

Angel took a breath. "You realise that place has a way of picking its champion for itself?"

"The Deeper Well is a sentient power beyond our understanding," Giles admitted. "It might pick a defender tomorrow, or it might be a decade or a century from now. We can't leave it undefended until then." Giles paused, eyes narrowing. "Need I remind you who killed its last paladin?"

Angel hid a wince. As far as his crimes went it probably didn't rate in the top fifty. "Okay, you said I could have an unit?"

"Yes," Giles returned to business. "I'm sorry, I won't allow you any Slayers, especially with your and Spike's track record."

Angel's eyes hardened. "I don't like what you're implying!"

"I'm not implying anything." Giles met his gaze unflinchingly. "In fact I thought I was rather clear. You may have forgotten Jenny but I -."

"I've never forgotten anyone I killed."

"I'm not having another Slayer put the lives of vampires above those of humans. Now," the Englishman smirked, "you can take it or leave it, but you'll find the Slayers who don't trust you vastly out-number those who do-."

"Buffy won't-."

"Buffy and Faith are just two voices amongst hundreds, frankly I'm a moderate as regards the majority of the Council." Giles folded his arms. "I tracked down those names you asked me to. Do you want to know what I found out?" Finding himself too angry to speak, Angel contented himself with a nod. "The Groosaluug was honoured by the offer and he'll join you as soon as possible. Detective Lockley is apparently working as a detective for the San Francisco Police Department and would be interested. Ms. Raiden turned you down flat," Giles chuckled. "Apparently we couldn't afford her. As for Ms. Cooper," Giles paused, "she had no interest in working for you, but has accepted our job offer."

Angel grimaced, he had hoped to come to an understanding with Justine, show her that there was no need to blindly hate, but it appeared it was yet another one in the loss column. "If you wish, you can have California to patrol. We'll resource and finance you of course." Giles paused. "I'd advise staying out of L.A., but that's entirely your choice."


	2. Chapter 2

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (2/?)**

Cleveland, September 2008

Giles looked up at a knock on the door. "Please, come in."

He smiled fondly at Dawn, my word she'd blossomed into a beautiful young woman, and then with grave professionalism at the hulking man stood behind her. "Dawn, Graham, please take a seat."

Dawn had come to him via a swap with Buffy some four years ago. The two of them had had some disagreement, he sensed about Buffy ignoring Dawn in favour of first the Immortal and then Wood, and Buffy had insisted he take her. He'd feigned reluctance, agreeing only on the condition that Buffy took Andrew off his hands. He'd been amazed when Buffy had agreed, but in truth didn't care? Not only had he gained an able administrator, he'd also got rid of a whining ninny. Win all round as far he was concerned.

Graham Miller on the other hand had come to the Council three years ago, together with the Finns. While the Finns had joined the Watcher Corps, in fact taking over their Japanese office, Graham Miller had opted for a position in charge of their Special Operations Cadre, his responsibilities including the training, posting, recruiting, and equipping of agents.

"I assume the monthly reports are in?" Giles grimaced as his two guests sat. "Including Xander's?"

Dawn grinned at him. "You're not the one who has to read them," she scolded.

Giles chuckled. "That is why one has assistants. One just wishes he'd have his assistant type his notes up."

"Rumour has it Faith said she was the only one to play secretary to him," Dawn teased.

Giles shuddered. The fact that Xander had been dating Faith for the best part of four years really didn't bear thinking about. The bombastic Bostonian had a number of rough edges, but inside beat the heart of a good, although eminently foul-mouthed person. "Onto the meeting," he coughed. "First order of business, next week's quarterly board meeting, has every-one confirmed?"

"Yes," Dawn crossed her legs, immaculate in her neatly pressed office suit. "The teleportation tunnels that Willow installed in our twenty-five offices will really help. We won't need to video-conference anymore."

"But we'll still have a video record to upload onto the computer system?" Giles smiled at Dawn's nod. One of the first changes he'd made upon forming the new Watcher And Slayers Council was making it more democratic. First the Cruciamentum had been abolished, then Slayers had been told Slaying was voluntary but with salaries on a par with the Watchers, and finally he'd formed a ruling body called The Advisory Board, an elected nine-person board.

In the past such a board, always assuming the Council would have such a thing would have been solely voted on and staffed by the Watchers themselves. This Board was different though. Although there were three seats for Watchers – currently held by himself, Xander, and Sam Zabuto, the rest of the board was made up of others. Three Slayers sat on the board, Faith, Vi, and Shannon, hadn't Buffy been ballistic when her speeches and unwise romantic history had conspired to cost her a seat. Three non-Watcher, non-Slayer employees also sat on the board, in this case the Pylean warrior Groo, a former Sunnydaler mage in Michael Czajak and a former Buffy beau in Oliver Pike.

The board seats were voted on every three years, people only being allowed to vote on those in their category, Watchers for Watchers etc, etc. They met every quarter to discuss and vote upon matters that concerned the Council as a whole – funding, rubber-stamping alliances, and general policy matters.

"Remind me," Giles looked towards Dawn, "what successes have we had in vampire-hunting this past month?"

"It's been an active month," Dawn proudly declared. "Xander's team took down Sauda Kifo and Imara Hatari in Nambia. Our Central American office took down the LaFitte brothers," Giles raised an eyebrow, the notorious pirates dead that was good news, "and Thug Behram was slain by our Indian office." Dawn grimaced. "One of Robson's teams got Giles de Rais," Giles scowled at the mention of his serial-killing namesake, "in Corsica, but they lost two girls in the attempt."

"Oh bugger," Giles whispered. That was the price they paid for this war, the loss of innocence, the loss of life, all so the unwary could sleep soundly in their beds. Once he'd composed himself, Giles looked towards Dawn. "Have their details forwarded to me, I'm sure their section head has already sent his letters, but I'd like to add my own. Have the usual payments made," god it sounded so bloody dirty. "As for the survivors, have their bonuses paid into their bank accounts or trust funds and their permanent records edited to reflect their commendations."

"I thought there was something about Drusilla?"

"There was," Dawn sighed at Graham's query. "She was seen in Bombay three weeks ago, but by the team in the area got there, she was long gone, leaving behind a slaughtered café." Dawn shook her head. "It's the seer in her, she sees us coming long before we get there."

Giles grimaced. Drusilla, Dracula, and Bathory remained the three trickiest vampires to track down thanks to their various supernatural powers. "How about the Black Thorns, has there been any movement on them?"

"I'm afraid not," Dawn shook her head. "They've all gone to ground or other dimensions, no sign of them.

That was disappointing, the first few months after Angel's coup had been spent chasing any and all lead on possible Black Thorns. They'd slain some and identified others, but after about six months their successes had dried up. Giles glanced towards the silently waiting soldier. "And what about you, Mr. Miller? I understand you've bought those machines you nagged me for for the past year." Giles chuckled ruefully. "There was a big enough bloody hole in the accounts this month."

"You'd feel silly if you need the equipment one day and it isn't there," the former soldier countered.

Giles raised an eyebrow. "I shudder at the thought of any scenario where we'd need the two military humvees you insisted we'd buy for each of our twenty-five offices. Not to mention the machine-guns, grenade, and missile launchers you have us stock at every base. If we didn't have diplomatic immunity, they'd lock us up and throw away the key!"

"I think 'Chained Heat' and 'Babes Behind Bars' are more Faith's bag than mine," Dawn ruminated.

Graham broke away from staring speculatively at the young beauty to look towards him. "You employ me to ensure any worse-case scenario can be met," the soldier countered.

"Yes," Giles conceded this round of their years-long argument with a nod. He might be the holder of several billion-dollar accounts spread across the globe in such exotic locales as Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, the Bahamas, Luxemburg, and Lichtenstein but old habits died hard. Still, he comforted himself with the thought that he'd had his monthly meeting with the Council's investment bankers yesterday who'd gleefully informed him the Council's finances were somewhere north of ten billion dollars. When one had been around for thousands of years, interest tended to accrue. "And to that end, how does recruitment go?"

It was Dawn who spoke first. "As of August 31st, sixteen hundred and sixty of the known Slayers work for us, three hundred and twenty-seven are non-active, and a further forty-seven are on the rogue list. Eighteen of those are in custody."

Giles grimaced. Rogue. Xander and Faith's team in particular had a notable record of turning such cases around, but still the word rankled. When one looked back at it, Faith hadn't been that bad: destructive, angry, and even temporarily insane, but not coldly evil. The same could not said be said for some of the girls on the run. "And what about our other resources?"

"I'm a resource now," Dawn grinned impishly, "I always wanted to be a resource." Dawn's grin widened at his raised eyebrow. "As of August 31st, there were three hundred and sixty field Watchers, sixty academic Watchers, and forty administration Watchers." That was a massive change from the olden days, all those field Watchers, taken from the world's armies and demon hunters. "According to Willow, we employ over one hundred and fifty mages of varying power." Dawn finished and looked towards Graham.

"Every office has between eight to twelve Special Operations agents, depending on the office's size, and every office has a combat-experienced pilot licensed to fly both helicopters and planes," Graham proudly reported.

"Excellent," Giles nodded. No longer would a Slayer go into battle alone, with only a Watcher to watch their back. "And support staff?"

"Every office has a doctor, a surgeon, three nurses, and a clergyman of the region's prominent faith," Dawn replied. "And of course, each office has its information technology technician."

Giles whistled inwardly. Over twenty-six hundred employees. Small wonder the monthly salary bill alone was over twenty-million dollars a month. That was without even mentioning the millions they spent on their law, PR, and banking firms.

But then it was a small price to pay for the world's safety. Any pain he felt at the expenditure was assuaged by thoughts of the decreasing mortality rate in Slayers and the population in general.

Turning his attention to back to the meeting, he glanced at his agenda. "Has there been any movement towards new alliances?" It was a lot different than in the old days. Back then there had been the alliance with the Vatican and the Devonshire coven. Now they had alliances with mages in Africa, America, and Europe, not to mention warrior orders throughout the globe, and various clans of supernatural creatures and demons.

"Yes," Dawn looked down at her own notes. "Angel put us in touch with a clan of Brachen demons in Portland, and a representative of a clan of werewolves in Siberia has made tentative contact with our Russian office."

"And they're both amenable to signing both the Non-Aggression and Mutual-Aid Pacts?" Giles beamed at Dawn's nod. "That's excellent, get them both signed up."

The moment his guests left, Giles rose and walked to the window, peering down on the thirty or so girls being drilled by one of Miller's mercenaries. The last few years had been filled with activity, mostly highs – the defeat of the Shadow Council in '05, the Three Sisters the same year, the Chaos Lords and a Garnok uprising the next, and Dark Way Summonsers last year, but some lows too. And even the highs didn't come without bloodshed.

Still, despite Xander and Faith's reservations at the time, both had approached him after Buffy had put forward her plan for the Mass Calling, citing worries. Xander's had been centred around choice, worrying if they had the right to do to hundreds what the Shadow-Men had done to one girl, and what that decision would have on the cosmic balance in general. Faith's concerns on the other hand, had been more personal and considerably more earthy. Giles smiled. Yes, he could remember the words even now.

'Fuck G, what has B been smokin'? You create all these Slayers, whose gonna train them? The Council's been blown to shit, remember? Say there's a thousand Slayers created, how many Mini-Mes ya gonna get out of the bunch? You're storing up trouble for the future, this is f-u-c-k-e-d!'

He'd admitted although only to himself to sharing some both dissenters' concerns. However given the urgency and direness of the situation it had seemed like they had little choice. So he'd embraced Buffy's plan whole-heartedly.

And despite Xander and Faith's concerns it seemed they were reaping a most satisfying harvest.

* * *

NY

Holland Manners entered the gleaming boardroom of the New York office of Wolfram & Hart, his fellow deceased lawyers in Lillah Morgan and Lindsey McDonald beside him. "Hello," he greeted the waiting people sat around the boardroom, "you all know why you're here and what we're planning."

"Maybe we know why we're here, but we hardly know who one another is," commented a well-dressed yet somehow sleazy looking older man, his cultured accent hinting at an English upper-class upbringing.

"Of course," Holland smiled, "you were all brought here because of a common hatred for the forces of 'good' that assail us." Holland looked towards the Englishman. "This is Ethan Rayne, a former friend and confidante of the Council's current head, Rupert Giles. The two of them are estranged to the extent we had to buy Mr. Rayne out of a military prison nine months ago. Since then, Rayne was been put to a work building psychological profiles of Rupert Giles and Ms. Summers, adding his knowledge to what we already knew."

He moved to the immaculately attired and heavily-botoxed woman in her late-forties sat beside Rayne. "This is Catherine Madison, a witch of considerable power and mother of Amy Madison, herself one of the new Council's major magic-users. After the fall of Sunnydale we sent in a covert team to extract any magical objects or occult books of interest and found Ms. Madison trapped in a Cheerleader's Trophy." Madison shot a chuckling Rayne a furious glare. "Please, Mr. Rayne - we're a team here."

His tone was velvet, but Rayne flinched anyway. "Sorry."

Most gratifying. "A prison she'd been trapped in by the machinations of Rupert Giles and Ms. Summers." He looked towards the next man, a short crumpled man with hard eyes and an arrogant air. "This is Felix Post, the brother of Gwendolyn Post, a victim of Ms. Lehane and Ms. Summers. His information has come in most enlightening in filling in the blanks as regards many of the Council's major Watchers." His gaze dropped to the short, well-dressed man sat beside Post. "This is Magnus Bryce, a talented mage whose business was wrecked by the interference of Angel Investigations."

He looked across at the handsome, supremely self-possessed man sat opposite post. "This, lady and gentlemen, is as I'm sure he's not tired of telling you is The Immortal. We employed him as a sleeper agent," both Lillah and Lindsey sniggered at his pun, "to get inside the Council-."

"And Summers' skirts," chuckled Lindsey.

"But although his mission was ultimately a failure, he's provided us with a lot of information on the operations and politics of the new Council," Holland finished. In his opinion the Immortal's limited usefulness was offset by his manner and unerring ability to get everyone's hackles up, but this wasn't his decision to make.

"Beside him," Holland looked towards the red-cowled figure sat by the Immortal, "is Barshon, a priest from the Pylean dimension where Angel and his crew led a rebellion several years ago." Next he moved onto the bulky-shouldered demon bristling at being sat with humans. "General Nightsteel, Grand Commander of the Scourge and brother to a Scourge member slain by Angel about a decade ago." Next he moved onto a humanoid with a horn jutting out of the centre of his head and a trio of spikes jutting out of each rangy shoulder. "Grand Master Oscuro, head of the Takaran Order, the new Council have run a relentless campaign against them." He turned to the last member, a tall vampire with the face of a furless rat, its hands and probably feet morphed into four-pronged claws. "And last but by no means St. Vigeous," a shocked mutter ran through the room, every one recognising the name of the five thousand year old vampire, sire of Lothos and Kakistos , "master of the newly formed vampire ruling body, The Red Swathe."

"August company," Ethan muttered between worried glances at the smirking vampire. "Are we to presume that something is afoot?"

Holland nodded. "Ever since events in Los Angeles, we've been on the back foot," he admitted, "being forced to wait for the right time to strike. We've used this time to consolidate our forces." Holland glanced towards Barshon. "hiding our forces on Pylea with the co-operation of our allies there until the time is right-."

"What forces?" queried Bryce.

"Many thousand of the Scourge, The Fell Brethren, Sisterhood Of Jhe, and Vinji and

Sahrvin clans. We've even taken several hundred Durslar beasts from Pylea," Lindsey replied. "The exact numbers are to be kept from you for operational reasons."

"That's great," Ethan commented, "but haven't these buggers been having their arses kicked by the Slayers for the past five years?"

Always the doubting Thomas, mused Holland. It was little wonder that Giles had lost his patience with such a man. "That is true," he replied, his tranquil tone masking his irritation. "However we have other forces at our disposal."

"Such as?" This query came from Post.

Holland smirked. "As you know the Council have been very enthusiastic hunting down demons and opponents to their plans. While that's stifling to our plans, it has also given rise to certain opportunities."

"Opportunities?" Ethan queried, interest flickering in the Chaos Mage's eyes.

"I'm sure you're aware of the powers possessed by The First Evil's lieutenant, Caleb?" Lillah put in. "Caleb was only one of The Fallen, holy men gathered from the ranks of the world's religious orders, a Protestant, Muslim, Buddhist, Jew, Hindu, and Sikh. All who forsook their respective faiths in favour of the power offered by the First. And now, they work for us."

An approving murmur ran through the boardroom, but one remained sceptical. "That's all very well, but there's over a thousand Slayers," pointed out Catherine Madison.

Holland conceded the point with a point. "True, but we also 'acquired' and re-programmed several dozen of the Shadow Council's cyborgs upon their demise."

"In addition to that we have a number of rogue Slayers that we got to before the Council could," Lillah put in. "As well as a number of other resources that you don't need to know about."

"Alright then," Catherine looked warily around, "then what is your plan?"

Holland smiled. "It is a relatively simple one. Simply this, the Slayer army has been a barrier to our plans for far too long. We're not content to compromise any longer, it is to be all out war." Shocked murmurs ran though the room. "Already plans have been put into action to ambush all of the Council's major players-."

"You can't possibly hope to kill them all!" Ethan snapped.

"No, not at once," Holland admitted. "However, we have certain contingency plans beyond that. Namely we intend to create so much destruction and misery with our makeshift army that we're able to weaken the dimensional wars enough so that we can pull Tartarus and his army of Nephilim into this dimension."

"Tartarus!" Ethan's face lost all colour. "The primordial diety who fathered the Greek Titans! But that's monstorous!"

"That's just the weapon we need against the Slayer army," Lillah corrected with her trademark smirk. "And those who serve in our army will have elevated positions in the new world to look forward to. You'll all have assignments to fulfil, and you know what sort of work we expect. You're dismissed."

The moment the door closed behind the last of their underlings, Holland turned towards Lillah and Lindsey. In theory the dead shouldn't feel terror, and yet he knew that all three of them were now filled with trepedation. "Ready?" His subordinates nodded as he took a breath and lifted the coat of arms hanging on the wall.

Energy crackled in the air as a black hole in the wall shimmered and vibrated until it expanded to take in the entire wall. And then a succession of beings strolled into the boardroom, filling its air with dread.

These were the fourteen of the newcomers, making up the total surviving Black Thorns, the only ones who'd managed to survive the Slayers' merciless hunt. From Moscow came the witch Baba Yaga and the mad monk Rasputin. From Tel Avi came Simon Magus, the first heretic of the carpenter's cult. From Cairo, Jehoshua Ben-Pandira, a notorious sorcerer. From London came Robert Fludd, a genius occultist, and Matthew Hopkins, a wizard who'd started up the witch-hunts so to wipe out his competition. Martin Ocelotl hailed from Mexico City, the sorceress Cicre came from Athens, and from Hamburg, Johann Gerog Faust, a powerful wizard. From Cairo came Elymas, a sorcerer who had dared to deny St. Paul, and lost his sight for it.

Not all the Black Thorns were humans, Indrik was a demon from the Moscow Office, Wani, a dragon from Toyko, while Cacus and Baphomet came from Athens and Cairo respectively.

"Masters," Holland hurriedly joined his subordinates in kneeling, "our plans gather pace. Even as we speak, our followers are given their orders."

Rasputin chuckled. "One wonders if they'd be so eager if they knew the senior partners had given up this dimension, that their real goal is annihilation not conquest."

"Their eagerness is not expected," Holland smoothly replied. "Only their obedience."


	3. Chapter 3

**Fic: Tilting The Balance (3/?)**

Johannesburg, South Africa

The sun beat down on them as their SUV made their way through Johannesburg's crowded downtown streets, signs of dereliction and danger on every street corner.

"Cut that crap off!"

Xander glared at his girl-friend when she reached across and turned off his radio. "John Fogerty are not crap," he loftily replied

"For once I have to agree with Ms. Lehane," Wilson, a six foot tall English transplant who served as Xander's second in command, commented from the back seat. "John Fogerty is utterly awful."

"Damn straight!" Faith beamed at the Watcher's comment.

"Of course, he is marginally, and I do say marginally, better than the death metal tosh you listen to," sniffed Wilson.

Faith's dimpled smile turned into a brooding scowl. "Wouldn't know good music if someone shoved a drum stick up your-."

"You'd have to remove the cricket bat first, Faith!" giggled Dana.

Faith winked at him before looking over her shoulder at Dana. "Damn straight, sis."

"Well really," huffed Wilson, sweat beading down the lobstered Brit's face.

Faith grinned at him, compelling him to return with one of his own. Life had turned out pretty well for him, far better than he'd ever imagined it would post Sunnydale. He'd left the others almost immediately after leaving Sunnydale, demanding that Giles give him a post away from them, wanting a chance to both be alone with his pain and strike out on his own.

Four months later Faith had broken up with Wood, and worried about the tone of his reports, Giles had sent Faith to him. Faith's version of tough love had almost killed him, she'd started with five miles runs and worked up from there, but in the time she'd been dragging him out his self-destructive spiral, they'd fallen in love.

When Giles had called them back to America to help Angel, apparently Giles hadn't wanted to confront Buffy with his and Deadboy's secret deal, Faith had found out about Dana and flown into a rage, insisting that the former mental patient be given over to her care. That had opened him up to an entirely different side to his girl, not the tough but fair drill-sergeant that she was with her other girls or the sassy sexpot she was with him in private, but a gentle, patient confidante with Dana, the only girl over twenty to be Called.

He'd tell her she'd make a great mother except for the fear she'd snap off his baby-making equipment.

The thought almost making his remaining eye water, Xander pulled up outside the house they had a meeting at. It was a walled compound with a neatly-cut lawn and a three-storey sun-blasted house. "This the place?" Faith queried.

"Yeah," Xander nodded. Today's mission was a simple one. All they were doing was buying some occult books for Giles. Apparently they weren't that rare, but they were dangerous, and Giles wanted them off the open market, out of the reach of eager wanna-be Dark Willows. "I'll want you to authenticate the papers, Wilson. Faith, Dana, you're our muscle. Jonas," Xander looked to the Belgian former-soldier who served as the leader of his office's Operations cadres, as he checked his Glock 17 and climbed out of the car, "you, Abeo, and Njerio stay here. Holler if there's any trouble or come running if we need some help."

"Try not to sweat all over the books, G'll shit if the ink runs or the paper tears," Faith teased as she climbed out of the car.

"Yes, thank you for your sage advice, Ms. Lehane." Wilson sniffed as he dabbed at his glistening forehead.

* * *

"Welcome," Faith grinned. But then she found she couldn't stop grinning these days, she'd never been happier. She had her big sis, she had responsibility, she had her crew, and most of all she had her man.

Life didn't get any better than this.

Faith glanced towards Xander. It had taken time and a hell of effort to sort Xander out, but she'd owed him big for all the shit she put him in through back in Sunnydale. And in the process she'd fallen head over heels with the big goof.

The one-eyed man walking beside her was a hell of a lot different from the shambling, portly drunk she'd picked up in a Nambian bar. He'd leaned out, losing thirty pounds, and walked with a cool purpose.

Ever since she'd got him in shape, the guy had turned into a freaking Martial Arts nut, determined to become the best demon fighter he could be as well as giving his girls the best chance he could. Hell, he gave the expense account one heck of hammerin', bringing in every martial arts instructor he could find for six months at a time. They'd been taught Krav Maga by a former Mossad operative, Sambo by a Spetsnaz major, Aikido from a former world champion, Brazillian Ju-Jitsu from a former UFC competitor, Muay Thai from a national champion, Wing Chun from a multiple-time national champion, Tae Kwon Do from an Olympian, and Escrima from a Filipino master.

'Tho Xan had originally brought the instructors in for himself, they'd all used them. Hey, they were naturals, but it didn't hurt to learn tricks from the masters. 'Sides, their training sessions always built team morale.

Yeah, her in a team, as a team leader no less. That made her grin too. Their South African based office was one of the biggest, encompassing South Africa, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and Zambia. Between them Xander and her had ninety Slayers under their command, and one hundred twenty-five staff in total.

Then there was Dana, Faith looked at the svelte, tanned beauty slinking at the side of Wilson. The moment she'd heard of Dana, she'd been enraged and gotten custody of her by guilting G with a reminder of her warning at the time of The Mass Calling. It had taken time first to tame the feral girl, then to coax her out of her shell, and finally get her to trust and communicate with first her, and then the rest of their team. Dana was still wicked wary, anyone who joined the team had to be okayed by either her or Xander before Dana would even speak to them. But as a Slayer, holy shit, the girl was the Slayer Spirit live and in living kick ass. Faith didn't know if it was because of the psychological damage making her closer to the demonic essence or somethin', but none of the girls, including herself, were even close to as fast, strong, or durable as Dana.

Xander came to a halt by the door, brow furrowing. "It's open," Xander cautiously peeked his head through the doorway, "doesn't look like there's anyone in."

"This is the meeting place?" Wilson sniffed.

Xander shot the Englishman a disgruntled look. "I know my way around Joburg, okay?" Xander paused. "We'll have to go in."

"Ya know I shouldn't be goin' in here?" Faith smirked when Xander shot her a confused look. "Hey, you're the horror film junkie, deserted house with open door, hot girl with the best rack always buys it."

"You so do not have a better rack than me!" hissed Dana.

"Keep tellin' yourself that, kiddo." Faith chuckled. "You should have seen Xan when I got my hands on him, dude had way better cleavage than me."

"Movin' on," Xander flushed as he used his H&K G36's muzzle to push the door further open, Faith wincing slightly at the creak.

The kitchen was innocuous enough. Basic wooden set-up, but clean enough. Not that she was like the home-making type. Thank fuck for the local cleaner and cook they employed.

They tip-toed through into the lounge. "Oh that's not good."

"No shit," Faith muttered in reply to Xander's comment. The spacious lounge was dominated by the three headless corpses sprawled out on the floor. "We need to get the fuck outta here."

"We were sent here to get those books, we need to-." Wilson looked around as a huge explosion shook the house. "What was that!"

"Trouble!" Xander looked around. "We need to-."

"Get down!" Faith roared as the ceiling caved in, grabbing Xander and Wilson by the collars, she yanked them backwards as she lunged for the door.

* * *

Rio De Janeiro, Brazil

Willow sighed as she stood on the balcony over-looking the shrouded in darkness garden below, the midnight breeze stroking her face. She had Kennedy, she had her office controlling twenty-eight Slayers and nine Watchers over five countries, and yet she couldn't be truly content.

Why?

"That damn library," she whispered with a sad smile. It wasn't always like this, the mood would only hit her every three or four months, but when it did it hit her hard. She'd long for Giles peering disapprovingly over his glasses at them, gently reprimanding them for a lack of seriousness. Xander shambling in, the goofy look on his face masking his great heart, and Buffy quipping. Her and Xander exchanged emails on an almost daily basis, and she spoke to Giles weekly, but it wasn't the same.

Willow's head snapped up when the building's anti-intrusion spells blared out. Her long skirt swished around her ankles as she started across the darkened room, heart hammering. Who would dare attack them here in their stronghold?

"By the goddess!" Willow reared back when a greyish portal appeared between her world.

Who had the power both to over-power her defensive spells and force a magical entrance into their base?

* * *

Rome, Italy

Yes, Buffy smirked, she was finally getting the rewards due as a world-saving hero. Although the lack of ingratitude shown to her by her fellow Slayers was galling, much of that was offset by her healthy expense account, and of course living in the fashion capital of the world.

And of course the cuisine was out of this world. They were in La Rosetta, unquestionably Rome's top fish restaurant, La Rosetta lay in a quiet side street close to the Pantheon. Upon entering its wood-panelled room, with its wooden furniture and red upholstery, customers all received a complimentary glass of champagne. Yes, this was definitely the life she deserved.

"Are you alright honey?"

Buffy smiled at her beau. "Yes I am, Robbie," she cooed back at her boy-friend and regional second-in-command. "This fish is divine!"

The black man grinned. "At these prices it should be."

Buffy smiled back at her lover. It had taken her time to find the right man for her, Xander had certainly sniped at her choice of The Immortal. Like he had room to criticise – Cordelia, Anya, and that skank were such great choices! It had been embarrassing when Dawn had uncovered proof that the Immortal was in the employ of Wolfram & Hart. Now she had Robin though, and was deliriously happy.

"For the glory of Lord Balthazar!"

* * *

California, USA

"I fail to understand why you allow the other half-breed refer to myself as 'Blue' and you as the 'poofter'. Are these not terms of irreverence?"

"Spike's irreverent?" Angel raised a shocked eyebrow. "Really? I hadn't noticed." Seeing Illyria's mouth open, he quickly continued. "You've known him for four years. If you expect him to change now, you've not been paying attention."

"I will spar with him, impress upon him my superiority!" Illyria snapped before striding into their basement gymnasium.

"Yeah," Angel nodded. "That'll work." The last four years had been interesting, no perhaps challenging was the better word. At first there'd just been the four of them, him, Groo, Illyria, and Spike, but Kate had finished up at the police and joined them soon after, with Connor finally nagging his way into 'the family business' as he put it.

It wasn't the same as having Cordy, Wes, and Gunn around, but they worked well enough together, kickin' ass and takin' names as a certain brunette Slayer of his acquaintance might say.

Angel's eyes narrowed as the door opened and a number of representatives of several differing faiths walked in. "I feel the onset of a really bad joke coming on," Angel muttered as he rose, smiling slightly at the bearded Rabbi leading the group. His brow furrowed as he felt something vaguely familiar about his guests but shook it off. "Hello sir, Angel Investigations we help-, ahhhh!" He gasped as the elderly Jew caught him with an impossibly powerful right, the blow catching him under his jaw and flinging him through the inner office's glass wall.

* * *

Cleveland, Ohio.

Giles' brow furrowed, his left hand rubbing at his forehead as he struggled with the accounts, although on balance he'd rather be battling a bloody vampire. Yes the Council had abundant funds and yes saving lives and protecting the earth was of course the priority, but it was his responsibility to make the next generation had the funds to give people the same protection as they were currently giving.

Giles sighed as he sat back in his leather-upholstered chair stretching his back as he stared at the Watcher coat of arms hung over the door. He'd never wanted this responsibility, fought against even being a Slayer's Watcher, although he was profoundly grateful his efforts had been futile. But even as he'd been protesting being appointed a Slayer Watcher, he'd never dreamed he'd have the onerous responsibility of Council Head.

"Responsibility is the price of greatness," Giles quoted Winston Churchill before chuckling ruefully. He certainly didn't think of himself as 'great', but he was determined to be the very best Council head he could be. Taking a breath he looked back down at the accounts with a renewed sense of vigour.

"Bloody hell!" Giles threw himself to the ground when the window exploded inwards and the anti-intrusion spells began blaring out a klaxon. Looking up, he saw a trio of masked men striding towards him, his blood chilling as he recognised a ring on the man's finger. "Taraka."


	4. Chapter 4

**Fic: Tilting The Balance (4/?)**

Johannesburg, South Africa

"Holy fuckin' shit!" Faith explosively swore as dust, plaster, and wood crashed onto the floor followed by a dozen figures that she recognised as The Shadow Council's cyborgs that G and Angel were supposed to have dealt with years ago. "I thought those fuckers were dead!"

"Do they look dead?" Xander's G-36 came up, the gun bucking in her honey's hand, muzzle spitting fire.

"Those sons of bitches don't look too lively now!" Faith snarked as a trio of the cyborgs danced under Xander's onslaught before crashing to the ground. "Dan, with me!"

Faith darted forward, firing the magazine of her hastily drawn Glock into the face of one of the remaining cyborgs while ducking under another's nunchuka swing before delivering a kick into the man's midsection. The cyborg stumbled back a step but was still capable of flinging a flurry of blows that would have knocked her silly had they connected.

Faith glided under an elbow to the head, gabbing the cyborg's wrist and pulling her adversary into a forearm to the face. Faith grunted even as her adversary's face snapped back, pain from the impact running through her arm. Faith leapt into the air before the cyborg could react, wrapping her arm around its throat and twisting it back, the robot's neck snapping with an audible crack.

Faith landed in a crouch, looking around to see what still needed clearing up. Her stomach hollowed and eyes widened when she saw a 'borg stood over her man's crumpled body. "Xan!"

* * *

Rio De Janeiro, Brazil

Willow gasped as a group of figures charged out of the portal. Each one of them was powerful, the magical power practically crackled off them. None of them were even close to as powerful as her, but as group they significantly surpassed her strength.

Willow gasped as magical energy crashed into her hastily erected shield, sweat pouring off her as her surrounding enemies piled attack on attack on her. Teeth gritted, Willow tried to hold her own, but knew it was only a matter of time before their numbers defeated her.

* * *

Rome, Italy

Buffy leapt to her feet and spun to face the vampires charging in from the kitchen, restaurant patrons scattering to the sound of screams. "Gee! Newflash, he's dead!"

"I think that's their point," Buffy heard Wood murmur as she snatched up her fish knife, ducked under a back-handed slash and sliced her own knife across her adversary's throat, grabbing and yanking his blade away as he burst into dust.

Buffy leapt through the dust-cloud, ducking under and twisting away from her rivals' blades, kicking the one to her right in the gut as she back-hand slashed the one to her left hand across the throat before back-flipping out of the way of a thrust to the face. Her left hand touched carpet, fingers pushing up as she reversed her direction to land in a crouch, a sword slashing overhead, so close it practically parted her hair.

And then she surged up, crashing shoulder-first into the vampire just in front of her, knocking it off-balance while she drew her emergency stake and rammed it into the heart of the demon to her left. Her sword flashed up to parry the last vampire's downward slash before dropping onto one knee, grabbing the demon behind its knee and yanking its legs from under it. The vampire crashed to the ground, Buffy's blade slicing through its neck.

Buffy looked over her shoulder, her triumphant grin dying. "Woody!" Buffy's eyes filled with horror when she saw her beau crumpling to the ground, blood leaking from his left side.

* * *

California, USA

Angel leapt up to his feet, hands balled into fists. Too late he recognised the familiarity, they were creatures empowered in the same way as Caleb had been. "How?"

The rabbi smiled at him before grabbing the reception desk and flipping it on its side, clearing a path to him. "The First was a generous master and sought its lieutenants amongst the mockery that is modern-day religion, empowering each of those Chosen with a fragment of its power."

"Isn't that peachy," Angel smirked slightly at Spike's sarcastic voice, his grand-childe, the demon-goddess, and his son having come up from the basement gym, "we've got a meeting of the Harry Powells. There's only six of them Poofter, wanna leave them to you?"

"Would be selfish not to share," Angel replied before leaping through the cracked window, lunging for the Rabbi.

* * *

Cleveland, Ohio

"Oh bloody hell!" Giles cursed as he opened up his desk's lower drawer and pulled out his Browning Hi-Power before rolling up onto one knee and bracing himself against the desk. The gun bucked in his hand as he fired, two rounds catching the first of the men in the torso. Giles groaned as the man hit the ground but continued to move. "Bullet proof vests, hardly sporting."

Seeing the other two men's machine-guns starting to swing towards him, Giles threw himself to the other side of the desk, coming up into a gun-man's crouch, and emptying several rounds into the side of the head of the nearest man, fanning it as he did so. Giles threw himself to the ground as the other assassin's sub-machine fire strafed the books on the shelf behind where he'd been knelt before firing between the desk's legs.

The man shrieked as Giles' fire tore chunks out of his legs, he was still screaming as he crashed to the carpet, blood spilling out to pool everywhere.

"Oh bollocks!" Giles cursed as he swung up to shoot at the first man only for his gun to click empty as the first man regained his feet, his gun muzzle zeroing in on Giles. Giles raised two fingers and shot the man the vs even as he readied himself for death's embrace.

* * *

Xander yanked his magazine out of his assault rifle and reached for a spare. "Ah hell!" He twisted the gun around, crashing the butt into the jaw of a cyborg charging him.

The cyborg's head snapped back. Encouraged, Xander went for his Desert Eagle sidearm only to be forced to duck under a straight right. Xander came up inside the cyborg's defences, his muzzle pressed against the cyborg's jaw and pressed the trigger.

The top of the cyborg's head blew off, flying up to splatter the wall. Xander gasped as he felt an arm looping behind his neck, instinctively driving his head back into his attacker's face.

"Oh shit!" he wailed as his head clanged against metal. Rallying quickly, he attempted to snap forward and fling his rival over him, but the cyborg's superior power pulled him back. Xander's foot slammed into the cyborg's instep, shocking his rival into loosening his grip so that Xander spun to face the cyborg.

And caught a right uppercut that lifted him from his feet and crashed him through the lounge glass table. Xander rolled over onto his side, lunging for his dropped automatic. "Ahh!" he growled as his attacker stamped on his forearm, pinning it to the carpet.

And then suddenly a brunette blur smashed knee-first into the back of the cyborg, her hands linking around the cyborg's jaw and pulling back. Xander winced at the loud crack, although on balance he preferred it was happening to it rather than him, and then the cyborg was crumpling to the ground.

Faith grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet, concern gleaming in his girl's liquid eyes. "You cool?"

Xander nodded and smiled. "Little banged up, but I'll live."

"Wicked," Faith glanced around the devastated lounge,

"Unfortunately," Wilson hurried back in through the door, "the others won't. That explosion was our car-."

"Fuck!" Faith cursed and started towards the front of the house.

Xander grabbed her by the bicep. "Wait, we can't go out there, the police will be here soon."

"There's no survivors," Wilson added, eyes troubled. "It looks like it was hit by some sort of missile or grenade launchers."

"What are we going to do?" Dana asked.

"I," Xander pulled out his phone and pressed a button, "sound an alert ordering all the teams back to base."

"Seriously?" Faith raised an eyebrow.

"This was a trap," Wilson commented, "doubtless Xander is worried that our other units have been simultaneously been attacked."

"Shit," Faith cursed.

"It's a worry," Xander admitted. "But come on, I've sent out the code, we need to hustle ourselves."

* * *

Kennedy's feet crashed across the steps as she pounded up the stairs. All around her was carnage, her sister Slayers battling some manner of demons. However they were now beating them back, so her concern had shifted to why Willow hadn't come to their aid.

A single kick splintered open the room to their room. Kennedy's axe was up even as she registered the mages bombarded her girl-friend with magics. Her axe flew through the air, slicing into the back of a wart-nosed woman, blood spurting everywhere. Kennedy's eyes widened as the woman stumbled, her companions spinning to face her. "Okay, not a good idea," Kennedy muttered as she dived out of the room, black lightning impaling the doorway where she'd been stood. Kennedy glanced up to see the sorcerers climbing through a portal, eyes widening as she saw Willow's eyes suddenly close and her knees buckle. Leaping to her feet, she charged the room to grab the witch as she crumpled to the ground. "Willow!"

* * *

In a second Buffy was by his side. "What happened?" his girl-friend queried.

Wood looked down to see the blood leaking out between his fingers. "There were two of them, second got me as I staked him," Wood winced. "It's not deep, slashed across my ribs rather than going in deep. You need to signal the other, ohhhhh," he groaned as the short blonde helped him to his feet, pain flaring through his side, "teams to return to base." Seeing Buffy's blank stare, he continued. "This was a hit, maybe only we were the only target, but maybe our teams across the region have been hit."

"Strength in numbers," Buffy nodded as she pulled out her cell. "Right, I get it."

* * *

Angel crashed feet first into the Rabbi knocking the bearded Jew back a step only to be forced into a blocking a shuddering right on his forearm. Angel grunted as he took a left to the body then slammed the glass shard he'd picked up after his flight through the inner office and jammed it in the unholy man's eye.

"Ahhhh!" The Jew threw his head back and shrieked in pain.

"Turnabout's fair play!" Angel ignored his own queasiness to twist the glass in the Jew's orb, remembering what he'd heard about Xander's eye from Buffy. The Jew shrieked again and then Angel released his grip on the glass in favour of wrapping his arm around the priest's neck. Angel kicked away the Sikh Guru as he tightened his grip, twisting the Jew's neck until it snapped.

The Sikh leapt at him as he dropped the Jew's limp body, catching him with a hard right that snapped his head back. Angel ducked under another right, doubling up his rival with a trio of hard lefts blurred into his rival's burly belly. The Sikh grunted but caught him with a jarring backhand that sent him flying back into the office.

By the time he kipped up it was all over, Illyria sending a pike up through the Sikh's jaw, lifting him off the floor with the force. "They were most satisfying," commented the demon-goddess. Angel raised a wry eyebrow. Illyria's defeat to Hamilton had rankled with the god-king, ever since she'd seen even more consumed with violence. Five years on and she still sought to prove herself. Although Angel supposed five years was just a snap of the fingers to someone of Illyria's age.

"We've," Angel wiped away the blood leaking from his bottom lip, "got a big problem."

"What problem? They're all dead, mate," Spike said. "And next time you start bad-mouthing the local churches leave me out of it, those buggers could punch."

"You bloody idiot," Angel shook his head. "Didn't you sense it?" Spike stared blankly at him. "They felt the same as Caleb."

"Who's Caleb?" asked Connor.

"Avatar of the First bloody Evil, that's who," Spike spat. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Angel scowled. "I'll have to warn Giles it's back." Angel looked towards Connor. "You and Illyria go to Kate and Groo's apartment, and get them back here." Angel looked towards Spike and then the carnage-wrecked reception area. "I want you to make sure they don't recover."

Spike smirked. "Can I use the chain-saw?"

"Just make sure you remember which end's the sharp one." Angel paused and grinned. "On second thoughts, don't."

* * *

Suddenly the door open, the assassin had barely begun to turn when his head exploded into a bloody spray. Giles breathed again as Graham strode over to him, grabbing him by his elbow and aiding him to his feet. "Thank you old boy," he mumbled, voice shaky.

"You've been decorating I see," Graham commented.

"Ha bloody ha," Giles grunted as he looked around, some of his best books now littered the floor, interspersed with window's glass, and the blood soaking it, bullet-holes now decorating his once priceless antique desk. His eyes widened with alarm. "Dawn-."

"She's fine," the former soldier reassured him, "she's with two of the Slayers and one of my men, or she should be if they've been paying attention to me and her to them."

"Ha, Dawn paying attention that's what worries me," Giles' eyes narrowed as he noticed all the messages on his cell, stomach dropping. "Oh good lord."

"What is it?" Graham grabbed his elbow as he swayed, shock almost flooring him.

Giles stared up at his subordinate, heart racing. "The Council, it's under attack. Every office!"


	5. Chapter 5

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (5/?)**

Bangok, Thailand

Riley smiled fondly at his wife as they all sat down to their evening meal. As was the rule in his base, everyone who wasn't on duty and was available sat down together to eat their dinner. This was one of five Asian offices, his particular region of control encompassing Thailand, Burma, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam .Their dining room was a vast chamber, the polished table capable of sitting at least fifty, although only twenty-one of the eighty-seven people assigned to his office were currently sat there.

Riley rose and cleared his throat to give his customary speech, nothing fancy just a few words of thanks to those who served so diligently. They at least deserved that.

Instead his gaze snapped to the door at the sound of gunfire outside. "What the-?" he snatched his earpiece up off the desk and spoke into it. "What's happening?"

"Sisterhood of Jhe demons, sir!" he could hear the guard's bellow over the rattle of his XM312. "They're bursting through the ground floor doors and window, I'm holding them on the stairs!"

Jhe demons? Finn's brow furrowed, this made no sort of sense, although they hated humans they didn't pre-emptively attack them unless they got in the way of their aoclaypse. Deciding that could wait until later, he looked around the room seeing coolly resolved faces looking back at him. "Two Slayers to every Watcher. No prisoners, just kill. Chao-Ahn," he looked to his senior Slayer, "you're with Sam. I'll take the extra two Slayers, we're going to force our way downstairs and see if there's anyone left." He didn't give anyone downstairs much chance, there wasn't much more brutal than a Jhe demon, but he didn't intend to leave any of his people behind without checking.

"Come on," he picked up his H&K 36-K and set it to semi-automatic. "Stay behind me."

Time to kill some demons.

* * *

Lisbon, Portugal

"Miss Dawson," Robson stared in disgust at the mangled notes that passed as a report before glaring at the unrepentantly grinning black girl, "why can't you at least type this?"

"Because," the black girl winked at the woollen-hatted red-head sat opposite her, "that's the nerd's job not mine."

"It hardly makes one a nerd to be able to type," Robson primly replied, unable to hide a slight grin of his own. His two senior Slayers were an odd contrast, Vivian Sheridan, a shy red-head with a hidden steel core, and Rona Dawson, a brash hot-head with a concealed warm heart, two wildly different girls yet fiercely loyal to one another. God damn you Rupert, he silently cursed, for dragging me back into this world and making him care for other girls after losing his potential, Eve, to the Harbringers. He'd tried not to care, but these Slayers with their infectious energy had a way of worming into a man's heart. His was one of six European offices, his region encompassing Portugal, Spain, France, Holland, & Belgium. "Furthermore, while Vivian's reports are a veritable perfection, yours are barely legiable. It's mooted that your reports are on a par with Ms. Lehane to be the worst in the Council."

"You know what else me and Faith have in common?" Rona retorted. "We get results."

"Vivian's Slaying has not suffered for her efficiency in paperwork," Robson countered.

"Brown-noser," muttered Rona. "She'll be doing diagrams next."

"Ooooh!" Vi grinned at her best friend. "Good idea. Always looking for those extra brownie points."

Robson shook his head. "A little more professionalism would be such an unexpected treat," he sighed, sinking back in his chair, "why oh why do I bother?"

Rona smirked. "Got me beat."

"Bedevilling Slayers," he shook his head. Rupert had long been his mentor and he respected the man hugely, but it bewildered him that if his friend had a girl like this under his charge he'd ever conceive of unleashing thousands just like her on the poor unfortunate world no matter the circumstances.

Although he supposed they made his life entertaining if nothing else.

Both Vi and Rona looked over their shoulders, brows furrowing anxiously. "What's wrong?" Robson started to rise as the anti-deflection spell alarms began blaring out.

"Grab your Glock and stay behind us."

Robson nodded. Suddenly Rona was all business, something he was profoundly grateful of when the door crashed open and a grey-faced monster he recognised as a Fell Brethren charged in, all snarls and fury.

Rona glided forward to meet it, feinting with a kick to the midsection then karate chopping it to the back of the neck, sending it stumbling into Vi's path, the red-head leaping into the air and heel-kicking the demon in the throat and into the wall. "Well done girls," Robson praised.

"Oh now, he gives me a passing grade," snarked Rona.

"I hardly said that," he sniped back. "A passing grade is determinate on getting the three of us and as many of our companions out of this invasion alive as possible."

* * *

Athens, Greece

"Piss off you bugger!" Crowley caught the Fell Brethren with an upswinging mace to the jaw, bone shattering as the beast fell unmoving to the ground. Dropping the mace onto his desk, he reached into his drawer for his spare Browning Hi-Power magazine and jammed it in his automatic, the fruits of his previously fired magazine littering the ground in the shape of a trio of Fell Brethren corpses.

Nikki and Robin would be proud of him.

His gun snapped up as his door flew open. "Whoa!" Shannon threw her hands up. "I'm only coming to check you're alright, no need to get unfriendly!"

"I apologise," he forced a tight smile. One hundred and forty operatives spread over Greece, Romania, Serbia, Bosnia, Bulgaria, Croatia, and Albania. He wasn't supposed to have favourites, but Shannon, a Sunnydale veteran, was one of them. "How are things out there?"

The scarred Slayer shot him a wild-eyed look. "We're winning, but it's chaotic out there."

Bernard pursed his lips, not liking what he heard. "Then let's thin the herd a little."

Shannon nodded before kicking the door back open and leaping back as a pair of snarling Fell Brethren swarmed through it, the two demons falling back as he put a trio of bullets in each of their heads, Shannon swiftly decapitating them one after another. "Good shooting sir," Shannon praised.

"Ha," Crowley chuckled. "Sandhurst Pistol Champion '66 & '67!"

* * *

Melbourne, Australia

Colleen grunted as she caught a right to the jaw. Ignoring the blow's bruising impact, she ducked its follow-up and leapt into a headbutt to the face that had her bulky rival staggering backwards, her arm wrapping around its neck and twisting, the creature's neck snapping.

"Come on girls!" Colleen shouted, her foot crashing into the crotch of the next demon to take the fallen one's place. "We can beat them!"

"You'll never beat us!" roared her adversary as it threw a haymaker she blocked on her arm. "The Scourge can never be defeated!" Colleen jabbed her fingers into the creature's throat, her knee slamming into her rival's crotch again, a bone-splintering kick to the knee knocking the Scourge demon to the ground.

"Girls!" A voice roared in her head. "Down!"

Colleen reacted instinctively, throwing herself to the ground as she looked over her shoulder, a grin stretching her mouth as she saw Sam Zabuto and Amy Madison stood there with their unit's other mages, each holding a fireball in their palms. The heavy hitters were here now.

And then flames were whooshing overhead, obliterating their advancing enemy.

* * *

London, United Kingdom

Roger Wyndam-Pryce shook his head as he finished the resources report. He had the humility to admit a dinosaur these days. Even Rupert Giles was very much of the last generation, although he wondered if his country-man truly realised it. In a few years, certainly less than a decade, the Council would be in the hands of the likes of the legendary Xander Harris, Oliver Pike, and Riley Finn, a change not only of attitude, but of country and age. Given the easy rapport that they had with the Slayers under their watch, he couldn't help but think it was an improvement, even though he disagreed with the relationship between Harris and Lehane.

Roger shook his head, pain deadening his heart. He'd made so many mistakes and not just with his Slayer, with his family too.

He couldn't rebuild his relationship with his son, even before Wesley's heroic death things had been broken beyond repair. There were ways however he could make amends, and one of them was being the best Watcher he could be. To do his best to guide the new Slayers not with his customary distance but as an approachable mentor.

By god, he'd make his son proud of him.

His was one of the smallest offices, encompassing only the British Isles, and commanding just twenty-eight Slayers, but that suited him fine. He wasn't a young man anymore. Besides their small numbers gave him at least a chance of truly knowing every girl under his command.

Besides, a chuckle escaped his lips, England should be defended by an Englishman

Roger looked up at when his door crashed opened, a ringlet-haired brunette rushing in. "Mr. Pryce!" Harriet Doyle's eyes were wide with alarm. "The Scourge are here-," the woman screamed as she threw herself to the ground, an axe swinging where her head had been.

Roger threw open his desk drawer, pulled out his father's antique World War II Welbey revolver and sent a trio of rounds into the Scourge demon's head, each round rocking the demon, knocking it back a step. "Then let's rescind their invitation shall we?"


	6. Chapter 6

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (6/?)**

Cotswolds, England

"Brrrrr," Thera wrapped her arms around her even as she shivered, eyes searching the darkness. She was certain that her native Greece was never this cold. As bad as the cold was though, what was even worse was the boredom, the lack of action an anathema for Slayers. Guarding the Deeper Well was a milk-run, given to Slayers who were either inexperienced, being punished for some reckless indiscretion, or being rested after an injury.

Thera yawned. And oh yeah, it was cold.

Her eyes narrowed as she sensed her fellow Slayers tensing beside her as a distinguished-looking man of medium height and middle-age blundered towards them, his path seemingly haphazard as he weaved through the trees, and yet the Deeper Well's wards should keep him away. She glanced to the other three, all three armed with crossbows and short swords. "Cover me."

The man came to a halt when she stepped out of the shadows, eyes blinking owlishly. "Oh how unexpected," the man stuck his hands in his pockets as he stared at her. "One never expects to find such an olive-skinned beauty in the wilderness of the English countryside." The man pulled his hands out of his pockets and dropped something on the ground.

"Aaaah!" Thena gasped as she saw dots in front of her eyes.

* * *

"Slayers," Ethan shook his head as he saw Catherine Madison arrive out of a portal behind the other three Slayers, her fireball crashing into their back, "they don't make them like they used to." He watched dispassionately as the five rogues charged out and surrounded the blinded girl, setting on her like a pack of dogs. Once he'd have both feared Ripper's reaction and been more than a little nauseated by the savagery displayed by the rogues, he'd never been about killing always about debauchery and pleasure. However his time as an Initiative prisoner had hardened him, even though he'd been free for over two years, he still woke every morning screaming from nightmares caused by the place. Now all he wanted to do was help destroy Ripper and his bloody Council, rip down any evidence the bastard had ever existed.

Madison strode up to him, a disinterested look on the mage's face. "I'll be leaving now," she reported. "You're in charge now."

"That I am," he nodded. Now there was a cold fish, and a bloody cold one to boot.

* * *

"And how many dead?" Giles forced a smile at Dawn's red-rimmed eyes. "Please, Dawn, I need to know?"

"Three dead and eight injured," Dawn fought back a sniffle.

Giles' chest tightening was interrupted by his phone's insistent ring. "Dawn, I need a collation of what's happening at all our other bases, can you handle that for me?"

The former key nodded. "Good girl."

Giles pulled out the phone as the girl hurried out of the wrecked office. "Hello, Kennedy."

"It's Willow," the girl wailed, "somehow somebody portaled through her magical defences and attacked her, I can't wake her up."

Giles pursed his lips, stomach hollowing in terror. "I can't come myself, but I'll send Michael."

"Just hurry."

"We're on our way, inform your girls guarding your tunnel someone will be coming through soon." Giles strode out of the room, keeping his face resolved even as he recoiled inwardly at the bullet holes and blood adorning the walls. He grabbed the arm of a Slayer as she walked past her. "Ronnie, do you know where Michael Czajak is?"

The tiny red-head looked up, bottom lip trembling. He smiled encouragingly. "H…he's in the clinic, helping with the injured."

"Thank you dear." Giles released his grip on the Slayer's arm before continuing on his way. Michael Czajak was a Sunnydale classmate of Buffy and the others, indeed he'd been in a fledgling coven with Willow and Amy that had come under attack during the unfortunate Gingerbread incident. The lad was a reasonably good mage, certainly better than him, but his talent was dwarfed by either Amy and certainly Willow.

He could only hope that the mage was up to the task. Giles hurried down the stairs, nodding to Graham as he passed him in the hallway. "I'll be signalling a Ragnorak scenario in the next hour or so, you should start getting ready. I'll want you to set up eight-hour rotas so that there's always two pairs guarding both the front door and the teleportation tunnel. I'll also need an inventory of our stores, I want a full listing of our food stocks, weaponry, and ancillaries. Every last toilet roll." The stocks were topped up every month, and meant to last a group of two hundred for a minimum of four months with more than enough room to keep quadruple the amount of supplies.

"Yes sir." Graham nodded.

Giles hurried down the corridor and into the adjourning clinic, its normally orderly and pristine bays now neither orderly or pristine. "Michael," he grabbed the gangly goth by his arm. "Come I have need of you."

The young man started slightly at his tone. "Yes sir." The youthful mage dutifully followed him into the discreetly hidden and padlocked cellar. "Sir, what's happening?"

"I don't know son," Giles forced himself to remain stoic in the face of his youthful charge's desperation. The two of them strode down the railing-less flight of eight steps that led into the vast, dusty-floored cellar, cobwebs hanging from every corner.

As big as the cellar was it, was only the camouflage for something far greater. Giles strode over to the far wall and growled out a single word. "Invisus!" The trigger word caused the black stone wall to ripple and dissipate revealing a gleaming elevator door with a keypad in the wall beside it. Giles quickly entered a five-digit code, the door hissing open.

The elevator itself was huge, at least the size of a good-sized garage. The moment Michael stepped in behind him the door glided soundlessly shut and the elevator started, no need to type in a level number, there was only one stop and it was five hundred feet down leading to a bunker was for the emergency that he'd always hoped would never happen. It was equipped for every contingency and had every facility they could think of, magical and high-tech defences in addition to the living-quarters, gyms, weapons stores, energy resources, supplies, and state-of-the-art communications equipment.

"Why am I here?" Michael queried.

"There's been a magical attack on Willow, I need you to go through and see what you can do for her," Giles replied.

Michael took a long breath and nodded. "Yes sir."

"Good lad," Giles patted the young man on his shoulder. The rest of the journey was completed in silence, the door hissing open as they reached the bottom, the lights flickering on automatically. "You know the way," Giles nodded towards the teleportation tunnel, "and good luck."

"Thank you sir," Michael hesitated. "I suppose you'll be going to the Command Centre?"

"That I will," Giles smiled at the younger man, "and thank you, what you're going to do is very brave."

The young man reddened and looked down at his feet before spinning on his heel and walking off. Giles stared after the young man before walking in the opposite direction, the seemingly endless walk past many a door was completed in an eerie silence, the only sounds his own breathing and the clip of his shoes on the hard tarmac underfoot. Finally he reached a tunnel's dead end, a muddy grey stone wall. "Aperio!"

The wall shimmered , then disappeared to reveal the gleaming iron doors hidden behind the illusion. Giles stepped to the left and typed his date of birth into the keypad, a different code to the one he'd utilised to activate the elevator. A steel pad above the keypad slid up and Giles pressed his pad into the palm-print scanner. A yellow light flashed as his palm was read then the doors hissed open.

Giles stepped into the darkened room beyond. The lights automatically flickered on, bathing the room in yellow. Giles looked at the wall of widescreen TVs and then sat down in front of the computer with a grimace. He hated the bloody things, but he'd finally given up and admitted that someone in his position had to have at least the ability to use one of the bloody things at a remedial level. After typing in a word at the computer to open up the operating system, he picked up the steel-grey microphone beside the keyboard, and spoke into it.

"This is Olórin," Giles grimaced at his codename cheekily thought-up by Willow. It didn't seem anything like as funny now. "The Ragnarök Scenario has been enacted, all Paladins have seventy-two hours to evacuate Olyumpus and return to Avalon." Giles grimaced again at all the mangling and mixing of Earth's mythologies but also knew someone who happened to be lucky enough to break his both technologically and magically encrypted transmission would have a bugger of a time understanding it.

Indeed, unless somebody knew that the Raganarok Scenario refered to all agents returning to their regional bases, stripping them of their supplies, and use the teleportation tunnels to transport themselves to the Cleveland heaquarters after seventy-two hours of waiting, they wouldn't have a clue what was going on.

A wry smile tugged at his lips. A little like Buffy and Xander after any one of a thousand lectures he'd attempted to give them, back in the Sunnydale days.

His heart caught, god they had to be alright.

* * *

Every step echoed in the beat of his heart. Michael looked down at his hands, unable to believe just how sweaty they are, the terror threatening to choke him. First the horrific attack and now having to travel the teleportation tunnels to rescue Willow.

Him, rescue a mage maybe twenty to thirty times more powerful than him. How was he supposed to do that?

Michael came to a seemingly dead end and took a breath. "Viator." The wall disappeared replaced by a shimmering wall, not unlike a vertical, black puddle. After taking a breath, he stepped through the wall.

* * *

"Aaaaah! Aaaaaah! Aaaaah!" Despite her enhanced strength Kennedy struggled to hold her shrieking girl-friend down. "They're killing them! Aaaaaaah! Dead! Dead! Aaaaah!"

Tears misted her eyes as she looked over her shoulder as Michael hurried into the room she shared with Willow, two Slayers trailing behind. "Help her!" she wailed.

"What happened?"

"I don't know!" Kennedy snapped. "I'm not a magician!"

"It was a magical attack?" Michael pressed as he crouched by Willow's head, dark eyes fixed on Kennedy.

"They disappeared into a portal, what do you think!" Kennedy snapped.

"Okay," Michael put his hands on the side of Willow's head and looked towards the two Slayers who'd accompanied him into the room. "One of you help Kennedy hold Willow down, the other get ready to catch me-." Suddenly Michael's eyes rolled back as he tumbled backwards.

* * *

"Well that's disappointing." Michael's voice echoed back to him as he looked around the featureless corridor. He had expected to see 3d naked Kennedy, but no such luck. You'd think there'd be some upside to being heroic.

"Might as well start looking." Sticking his hands in his pockets he started walking through the corridors.

Seeming hours later, although time moved differently in this 'dimension', his heart lifted as he saw a familiar silhouette in the shadowy distance. "Willow!" he picked up his pace, racing towards the Jewish witch. "Oh no," he hissed as the witch turned to face him, revealing her black eyes and hair, the vicious grin confirming he was facing Dark Willow, Willow's alter-ego that but for Xander Harris would have ended the world. "I'm here to help you," he said as he backed away.

The witch laughed. "You think you can help me?" Black lightning crackled between her fingers. "A weakling like you?"

Michael screamed as the wicca's magics hit him, ripping through his defences in less than a minute, the sheer enormity of her power driving him to his knees. He screamed again as the power bombarded him, delving deeply into his soul. Soon his vision dimmed, his aching body clinging to sanity and consciousness by finger-tips.

"I won't let you hurt anybody because of me again."

Michael's heart lifted as another Willow, this one red-haired, stepped between him and his assailant. "You think you can stop me?" the black-eyed Willow trilled.

"No," Willow's back was to him, but nevertheless he heard the red-haired woman's smile, "I know I can."

Michael gasped as power hit power, dark-haired Willow's magics hit those of red-haired Willow. Dark-haired Willow's magics were of the inkiest, darkest black while the red-haired Willow's magics were a rainbow of colours. And far, far stronger, slowly forcing the dark-haired Willow's magics back. "You can't beat me! I am you!" screamed the black-eyed girl.

"Every one has a dark side," Willow replied. "The key is controlling it."

"Aaaaah!" the evil Willow screamed and writhed in pain as Willow's rainbow assaulted her.

"Um," Willow mused as her evil twin disappeared. "Having seen her up close, I can't help but think Xander missed out on a whole lot of bondage jokes." Willow turned to him and helped him to his feet. "I'm so sorry I did that," she apologised, "and thank you for coming. I'm sure the others have worried long enough, let's wake up shall we?"

Michael nodded wearily. What a very good idea.


	7. Chapter 7

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (7/?)**

"Good day, Rupert."

"Roger, it's good to see you." Giles smiled at the man who'd just walked through the office door with a good deal warmth than he once imagined possible. But then for some reason Pryce was a great deal changed from the imperiously cold fish he'd feared from a distance in the seventies. Giles had expected his older countryman to fight him tooth and nail for the control of the Council, instead the Englishman had stepped aside and thrown his support behind Giles, loyally and tirelessly working on his and the Council's behalf.

"And you," Roger nodded at his paperwork. "I see that you're busy. I'll speak to you later, I just wanted to check in."

"Thank you," Giles nodded. "I appreciate it, it's a weight off my mind. How are your quarters?"

"Adequate," Roger smiled ruefully, " and I'll say more than that. I'll speak to you later." Roger stepped towards the exit and then turned back to face him. "Have you news on Ms. Lehane?"

"Ms. –who?" Giles' brow briefly furrowed as he belatedly recalled Faith's surname. He didn't think he'd ever used it, she just didn't seem the surname type. "Xander and Faith are holding back until the last moment to give stragglers a chance to get to them before evacuating."

"Very commendable," Roger stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking for once nervous, "when she checks in, could you send her to speak to me?"

"Faith?" Giles stared blankly at the older Watcher. "Might I ask why?"

"Let's just say I have some ghosts to exorcise."

* * *

"Hey Rosenberg, you missing a Harris?"

"Xander!" Willow flew off her bunk and rushed into her best friend's arms. "I missed you!"

"Right back at you, Willow." Xander kissed her on the top of the head. "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Sixteen months," Willow stared up into Xander's dark eyes while gently punching his arm, "why didn't you come back for Christmas?"

Eyes that suddenly chilled. "You know why."

Willow sighed. "You've got to give her time-."

"Why Willow?" Xander demanded. "How many times have we picked up the pieces after her? But then she decides to criticise me about my relationship after her history." Xander shook his head and forced a smile. "Forget it, I'm not here to talk about that." Xander wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Especially when I could be hearing about the hot lesbian action. Where is Kennedy?"

Willow giggled. "Just meeting some old friends. Faith?"

Xander's brow furrowed. "For some reason Wes' dad wanted to see her."

Willow raised a surprised eyebrow. Oh to be a fly on that wall.

* * *

Roger Whyndham-Pryce looked up at the knock on the door. "Who is it?"

"Uh, Faith."

"Ah," Roger swallowed. Although the young woman in question was of legendary status around the Council, their paths had never crossed. He was sure the two of them meeting would be more than a little uncomfortable for both of them, and now it was unavoidable. "Please, come in."

"Thanks." There was a pause and then the door swung open, and a simply quite devastating beauty strode in, her raven locks cascading down to her shoulders, deep, pool-like eyes, and rosebud lips parted in a smirk that was part bravado and part love of life. The woman was wearing too tight to breathe leather pants and a black gym vest beneath a denim jacket that did little to hide her perfectly proportioned curves. The Slayer stalked over to the room's empty seat with a sensual grace. "Can I?"

"Of course," he motioned to the seat.

A long silence stretched out that was ended by Roger clearing his throat. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah," Faith shifted uneasily in her seat, "I'm a real celeb 'round here."

Roger chuckled self-consciously. "Yes you are, but that's not why I wanted to meet you."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "'Cause I'm a smokin' babe?" the Slayer's bravado seemed more than a little forced. "No offence, but you're a couple of decades too old for me."

"One only hopes that time will mend my broken heart." Roger forced back a smile at the Slayer's slight blink. Apparently his reputation as a humourless bugger had spread across the Atlantic. His face sobered. "No," he shook his head, "I always wanted to meet you to apologise."

"Apologise?" Faith's brow furrowed, luminous eyes filling with a fetching confusion. "I was the one-."

"Please," Roger interrupted with a raised hand. "I've thought a lot about this for the past few years, allow me to speak." Roger paused, his heart tight. "I made many mistakes bringing up my son. I was a hard man who taught him that true strength came from discipline and order, not compassion and understanding. My son's attempts at mentoring you were based on my example. I'd doomed him to failure before he even met you."

"I was self-destructing one way or another, however things went." The beautiful street fighter shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Way I figure it if I hadn't gone through all that crap I wouldn't have broken down, and come through it with a better perspective. Wes might have his problems, but he turned out to be a wicked cool guy. If I'd gotten the chance after prison, he'd have made a great Watcher." The Slayer's voice trailed off.

"That means a great deal." Roger smiled before sobering again. "Unfortunately while you and my son came to an understanding, I never managed to do the same." Roger paused, a heavy hand tightening around his heart. "My wife died a few months after Wesley-."

"Shit," the brunette's high cheeks flushed, "I meant, um, sorry."

"Quite alright dear, I'm over the worst," he lied. His wife had died four months after Wesley, and with it all his illusions of what sort of a man he'd once been. He hadn't been stern and commanding, he'd been callous and uncaring, a ruthless bastard. Now he sought redress the balance in what limited way he could before he died. Wesley was my only son, and as a consequence I have no-one to leave my fortune to. I'd be most appreciative if you'd allow me you to will everything to you as a sort of apology -."

"You've gotta be shi-," the young woman coughed, "jokin'"

"As we earlier established, I don't have a sense of humour," Roger half-smiled before taking a long breath. "Much of what you went through was a by-product of my short-comings as a parent. I can't ever apologise to Wesley for the damage I caused him or the years you lost in prison. What I can do is at least recompense you."

Roger was surprised in the almost-fear in the Slayer's dark eyes "Thanks but I've got everything I want and need, my guy, a home, a purpose. Me and Wes are square -."

"However, neither Wesley and I or you and I are," Roger replied before pleading. "Please, grant an aging man this one wish."

"How about this," the buxom beauty nervously licked her bottom lip, "you put the money in a trust fund for Dana." Dana? Roger's brow furrowed as he recalled the former lunatic Slayer that Faith had adopted. "I try and help her as best I can, but she'll always need help, I figure this money could help her, make sure she's always got someone looking after her."

"A splendid idea," Roger nodded approvingly at the young woman's generosity. "When this crisis is over, I'll organise it immediately." Roger paused. "On one condition."

"Yeah?" the young beauty looked warily.

"I'd like to hear some stories about your Slaying," Roger replied.

"Yeah," Faith nodded, "I guess I've got time 'fore the meetin'."

* * *

Angel's skin crawled as he walked the bunker's corridors, the scent, the feel of Slayers everywhere causing his demon to whimper in abject horror.

"Angel please, just do it. Just do it. Just kill me. Just kill me."

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the words cast him back to a rainswept alley almost a decade ago. He turned slowly to face the speaker stood hands on hips behind him. "I see you're still have all the memories, Dana."

Angel readied himself when the slender brunette snarled. From all he'd heard Dana gave new meaning to the word primal, a vicious unstoppable killing machine whose fighting skills surpassed any Slayer in recorded history. "Vampire, don't trust you," the Slayer straightened out of a fighting crouch, eyes watchful, "but Faith loves you, so I won't kill you."

"I appreciate that," Angel replied with as much calmness as he could muster.

Dana nodded before backing away and then giggling. "Tell Spike I said hi." Her manic giggles echoed around the corridor as she backed away.

Angel shivered, he felt like his spine had been ripped out and replaced by a tower of ice cubes. He continued on his way, ducking in and out of the corridors avoiding any that sounded inhabited. "Why didn't you tell me about your son?"

Angel groaned. Why couldn't Dana have stayed a little while longer? That conversation was likely fun next to his next. "And how do you suggest I should have dropped that one into the conversation?"

"Faith knew!"

Angel resisted the urge to roll his eyes but just barely. Buffy's jealousies could be so tiring at time. "Faith actually had to fight Connor to save my life so it'd be hard for her not to notice." He paused unable to resist the point to strike back. Undiplomatic perhaps, certainly childish, but ultimately satisfactory. "Besides you never told me about Spike either getting a soul or you about him."

Buffy's cheeks flushed. "That's different!"

"Why?" Angel kept his tone even, allowing no hint of his irritation to show through. "Because it's you?"

Buffy's eyes hardened. "And how dare you keep your partnership with Giles secret! That's not personal, that's Council business!"

"Which is exactly why you were kept out of the loop." Angel raised a hand when Buffy's mouth opened. The blonde reluctantly closed her mouth. "Normally you'd have been the first I'd have asked Giles to send when we organised the ambush," Angel continued. "But I knew about you and The Immortal."

"Jealous again, Angel?" Buffy sneered.

Angel shrugged, not bothering to deny it. "The Immortal's a dark arts mage and weasel of the first order. I wasn't going to risk anyone's life, especially my team's, because of your unwise choices and refusal to listen to others." Buffy flushed. "Oh yeah, Wolfram & Hart had a great intelligence network, and I used it to keep an eye on those I cared about." He was careful to use the past tense. "How is Xander by the way?"

Buffy paled. "Go to hell!" The blonde Slayer spun on her heel and flounced off.

"Been there, too warm for my tastes," Angel muttered as he turned and walked in the opposite direction. On the upside, it was always nice to be wanted.

* * *

Kennedy kicked the door shut behind her, looking around the store room they'd commandeered, each of her friends sat on a crate pulled around into a circle. "Has someone got the drinks?"

"Yeah." Vi held up a crate, a triumphant grin on the red-head's face. "I scored a crate of wine from stores."

"Then I call the third meeting of The Sunnydale Slayers Society open!" Kennedy beamed. While she had an affinity to all her sister Slayers, she felt closest to those who had been Called with her in Sunnydale. Grabbing the first bottle she quickly opened it and poured the bottle out into seven plastic cups, the red liquid sloshing over the rims. "Let's start with Chao-Ahn!"

"Chao-Ahn! Chao-Ahn!" The girls laughed and giggled and thumped their feet on the ground.

The now-fluent in English Oriental blushed before beginning. "Fourteen months ago I killed Dancing Chill, Thailand's oldest vampire, eleven months ago I led an attack on The Crimson Crescent, south-east Asia's major dark arts coven, nine months ago I led a mission to stop a demon opening a portal to a primordial dimension, seven months ago I killed Bangok's Black Thorn, and five months ago I killed Sharp Fang, Vietnam's vampire king."

"To Chao-Ahn!" Kennedy shouted before taking her wine and throwing it back in a single gulp.

"To Chao-Ahn!" chorused her fellow Slayers before throwing down their drinks.

Vi grabbed another bottle and quickly re-filled their cups before looking around. "Colleen!"

"Colleen! Colleen!" The rest of them chanted between giggles.

The tiny brunette beamed as she began. "Sixteen months ago I led a team that killed Perth's vampire king, eleven months ago I led a team that killed Sydney's vampire king, ten months ago I took down a trio of trolls in Samoa, eight months I killed Auckland's vampire king, and five months ago I killed a vengeance demon!"

"To Colleen!" Kennedy shouted before throwing her wine down.

Vi grabbed another of the bottles and quickly re-filled their cups before looking towards her. "Kennedy!"

Kennedy flushed as her friends chanted her name. "Seventeen months ago I slayed Cuchilla, Peru's vampire king, thirteen months ago we took down Los Dyster Rebelarses, an Orpheus dealing gang of demons, ten months ago we stopped Brazil's major dark arts coven from opening a portal to Quor Toth, and six months ago I slayed Rojo Jeger, Bolivia's vampire king."

"To Kennedy!" chorused her fellow Slayers before throwing down their drinks.

Vi grinned as she finished re-filled their cups. "I guess it's our turn. Tell them Rona!"

"Rona! Rona!"

"Sixteen months ago Vi killed Griffe, Corsica's vampire king!" Rona grinned. "Thirteen months ago we saved the Jentils from witch-hunters, nine months I killed The Prince Of Lies' eldest child Crimson, five months ago I slayed Germany's vampire king Ubel, and two months ago Vi stopped a black magic coven trying to use the du Lac Cross to resurrect all the Master vampires we've culled since the Mass Calling."

"Vi and Rona! Vi and Rona!"

After downing their drinks and re-filling their cups, everyone turned to Shannon and Caridad. "Shannon and Caridad! Shannon and Caridad!"

Shannon grinned before starting to talk. "Fourteen months ago I killed Kaktosis' oldest childe, Sidero, twelve months ago we stopped a bunch of Lubbers from stealing some rouge nuclear bombs, nine months ago we got the Sons Of Hercules to sign a treaty, and five months ago Caridad killed Mako, Bulgarian vampire king and Lothos' oldest remaining childe."

"Shannon and Caridad! Shannon and Caridad!"

The group of them gulped down their wine, Kennedy quickly re-filling their cups and throwing the bottle into the corner with the other empties. Kennedy grimaced as she looked around the room. "This is the one isn't it, the big one, maybe even bigger than The First."

"How do you figure that?" Rona said.

"Think about it," Kennedy replied. "You've all heard the rumours. There's been twenty-five co-ordinated attacks using at least a dozen different demons or demonic organisations. Whoever's pulled this off is a major player."

"Yeah," Rona grinned in that wild way she had, "this should be fun."

Kennedy grinned back at her friend before looking around. "Has anyone heard anything on Dracula?"

"Ha!" Vi giggled. "Does Faith know you're still warm for her boy-toy's form?"

Colleen laughed. "You know that she doesn't, otherwise Kennedy would be in ICU by now!"

Kennedy flushed as the other girls continued to laugh and taunt. It was her own fault, she shouldn't have told them she 'wanted to get Drac for what he did to Xander'. She didn't have a crush on Xander at all, but without him saving Willow from herself and saving her from Caleb, she'd never have gotten Willow and be so blissfully happy, so she owed him. Besides, she loved him for the unquestioning way he'd just accepted her, not questioned her sexuality or challenged her feelings for Willow. When he'd turned up in Sunnydale Dracula had taken that heroic guy and made him his butt-monkey.

Well one day, the Count was gonna pay for that.

Kennedy opened her mouth, desperate to steer the conversation into less humiliating waters. "Can everyone either a member of the Advisory Board or scheduled to report to them, please make their way to the bunker conference room."

The room fell sombre as Giles' voice crackled out through the intercom, Vi and Shannon slowly rising. "We best be off then," Vi sighed.


	8. Chapter 8

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (8/?)**

NY

"The Circle Of The Black Thorn are unhappy with the results of our first attacks."

Holland's words echoed around the hushed boardroom.

Lindsey shrugged. "We didn't expect to slaughter everyone straight out of the blocks."

"That's a rather more realistic view," Lillah retorted with an acidic stare at her fellow lawyer sat across the desk. "Maybe you'd like to share it with the Circle."

Holland rolled his eyes. Not even death had blunted the pair's competitive edge. "I think their concern stems largely from the fact none of the major targets – Angel, Giles, Summers, Lehane, or Rosenberg were actually killed."

"Well Rosenberg's survival is their fault," Lindsey pointed out.

Holland gritted his teeth. One day Lindsey's continued insolence was going to irritate someone with the power to show him that even death couldn't protect you from pain. "That might be, still they're considerably disquieted."

"Over sixty Slayers dead," Lillah commented after a careful look at Lindsey. "Dead in less than a few hours. We haven't managed to kill that many in five years. Not bad all things considered."

"Not bad isn't good enough," Holland reproved. "The firm has put considerable time, resources, and man, or should I say demon power into this operation. Failure is not an option."

"So what happens next?" Lillah queried. "Thanks to Rosenberg's cloaking magics we have no idea where they are."

"Now we move onto a wider range of targets," Holland replied. "The apocalypse is here and it's time the world was made aware of it."

* * *

The bunker's conference room was wood-panelled, its carpet a thick purple, and the mahogany table carved into an 'U'. Giles looked around as he took his seat, grateful to see serious expressions on Faith and Xander's faces for once. While the duo were hugely popular and he loved Xander with all his heart and respected Faith for all the changes she'd made, the pair's jocularity had made the Board's four annual board meetings hard work to say the least. It was good the duo recognised the severity of their position.

Giles licked his lips. "I'm glad to see you all here." Giles looked around. "As you're all aware we've come under attack from an extremely varied and numerous enemy. We're meeting here to decide just what action to take."

"I put a vote for kicking ass," Faith growled.

"And whose ass precisely?" Giles shook his head. "We need to find out precisely who has attacked before formulating a strategy." Faith sighed and nodded reluctantly. "Our first step has to be taking an inventory both of our staff and of our resources. To that end, I'll have Graham come in and make our report." Giles looked around. "If no-one has any objections?" When silence was his only answer, Giles spoke into his intercom. "Dawn, could you send Graham in."

The door opened and Graham walked in and sat on the chair at the centre of the floor, at the middle of the table's 'U'.

"Please, Graham," Giles nodded encouragingly at the young man. "Could you tell us of our numbers?"

The young man nodded before looking down at the neatly typed report in his hand. "There's fourteen hundred and eighty-two Slayers in the compound-."

"Fuck!" Faith exploded, half-rising out of her chair even as Vi and Shannon followed her. "You're not tellin' me nearly two hundred Slayers are dead!"

Graham shook his head and swallowed. "No, sixty-three are dead. Thirty-five are missing, and the other eighty are alive but weren't able to reach their regional stations by the evacuation time so are lying low as protocol demands."

Faith shook her head, eyes angry. "We shouldn't have left until every one was at the stations."

"That would only have given our enemy more time to organise an attack on what would have been sitting targets," Zabuto adroitly pointed out, Faith sunk back in her seat, full lips pursed in a pout.

"Just so," Giles agreed before looking at Graham. "Have you injury reports on the Slayers?"

Graham nodded. "One hundred and twenty six of the Slayers are injured. Eighty-four of them should be back up and healed within the week, twelve will recover but will take longer, thirty are permanently injured."

"Son of a bitch," Faith scowled.

"Of the Council's three hundred and sixty field Watchers, three hundred and seven are in the compound, twenty-two are confirmed dead, and the rest are either missing or were unable to reach the base." Graham paused and sighed, the recital obviously lying heavy on the young man. "We have the full complement of academic Watchers, and administration Watchers." Graham paused to turn over the page. "One hundred and twenty-eight of our mages are here. Two hundred and five of the Special Operations troops made it here, but seventeen of those are too injured to be of use. We have our full complement of information technology technicians, nurses, and doctors."

Samuel Zabuto was the first to break the silence that followed the end of Graham's personnel report. "And what of the Slayer Shooters," the traditionalist was unable to avoid a disapproving sniff at the mention of Graham's specially trained Slayer gun-women.

"One hundred and eight of the one hundred and forty."

"And what about our weapon supplies?" Faith leaned forward in her seat, ebony eyes narrowing. Giles was constantly surprised how well Faith grasped the nettle of leadership for all her wildness.

"We have eighteen hundred Glock 17s and one hundred and fifty thousand .40 S&W 17 round magazines. In addition we have thirty Desert Eagles with nine hundred .50 Action Express 9 round magazines and two hundred Browning Hi-Powers with ten thousand .40 S&W 13 round magazines." Graham paused. "We also have one thousand H&K MP5s and sixty thousand .40 S&W 30 round magazines, and a thousand H&K G36s and sixty thousand 5.56x45mm NATO 30 round magazines. We also have one hundred and fifty Mossberg 590s with sixty thousand standard rounds, thirty thousand incindery rounds, thirty thousand armour piercing rounds, and thirty thousand explosive rounds. We also have two thousand short swords, one thousand double-bladed axes, five thousand knives, ten thousand stakes, four hundred maces, twenty-five hundred crossbows and five hundred thousand quarrels."

Vi raised an eyebrow before looking towards Giles. "I didn't realise we were going to invade Mexico."

Giles smiled thinly. "That might be on the next agenda." Giles looked towards Graham. "Please, continue."

"There's more?" Oliver Pike grunted.

"We have fifty XM312 heavy machine guns and ten thousand one hundred round belts of .50 rounds, forty H&K GMG grenade launchers and forty thousand fragmentation grenades, twenty thousand stun grenades, ten thousand smoke grenades, and ten thousand incendiary grenades, and twenty missile launchers and four thousand HEDP rockets."

"Count them all yourself?" Faith snarked.

Graham half-smiled before continuing. "We also have forty humvees in the garage."

"That's one big garage," Xander's mutter rung all around the room.

Giles chuckled. "And how long will food and medical supplies last?"

"Three to four weeks," Graham replied.

"Not long then," Giles pursed his lips. "How much space is there in the storeroom for more supplies?"

"We're eighty percent full." Graham replied.

Giles sat back in his chair. So even if they risked sending teams through the teleportation tunnels to other stations for supplies, they couldn't extend their stay for more than a week or so. Action was definitely the way to go. "Thank you for your report, Graham, most extensive."

The American rose and strolled from the conference room.

"Fuck, G!" Faith exploded once the door was shut behind the former soldier. "You'd

give gun nuts a bad name!"

Giles chuckled at Faith's comment. "We might well need this arsenal now."

"Yeah, I suppose," Faith conceded.

Giles spoke into his intercom. "Dawn, please send in Willow."

The group listened in silence as Willow finished her report, Michael tentatively raising her hand at the report's conclusion. "There was eight of them and you think each of them was between a quarter and a third as powerful as you and using old magics?" Willow nodded. Michael turned to him. "I think we've found some of the missing Black Thorns, Mr. Giles."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "I think you're reaching."

"Am I?" Michael replied. "Until this week we thought that Amy was the second most powerful mage in the world, and she's what a fifth of the power of Willow. They're either really new or really old."

"Um," Giles pursed his lips. The young goth had a good point. "Well thank you Willow, you can go now." Giles spoke into the intercom. "Dawn, please send in Angel."

The ensoulled vampire strolled into the office and sat at the seat in the centre of the floor. Giles looked towards Angel. "Please give us your report."

Angel hesitated before nodding. "We were attacked by half a dozen holy men," the vampire studiously avoided Xander's gaze, "they reminded me of Caleb."

"The hell you say!" Xander's chair scraped back as the suddenly paling man starting to stand only to be pulled back down by Faith.

Angel finally looked towards Xander. "Every demon has an unique essence, they sensed the same as Caleb, they clearly got the power from the First Evil."

A shocked murmur ran through the room. Giles rose and walked over to Angel, poking him in the shoulder. "Sorry," he gruffly said. "Just checking."

Giles returned to his seat. "Have you or any of your team been visited by the First Evil?"

Angel shook his head. "No, at least I haven't, and I figure Connor would have mentioned being visited by either his mother or Holtz."

Zabuto exchanged a look with Giles before looking towards the vampire. "Then it could be someone else utilising the First's resources?"

After a second Angel nodded. "Yeah, it could be."

"It'd take someone with big brass ones to rip off the First," Vi commented.

"Big brass ones?" Giles looked towards Vi. "I can't help wonder just who you picked up such a quaint saying from." His gaze switched towards Faith. "Although maybe I have a suspicion."

"Even when it ain't me, I get blamed," Faith sniffed.

"And yet I find myself lacking in sympathy," Giles looked towards Angel. "Thank you for your time, Angel, you may go."

The next couple of hours were spent listening and questioning the reports of the rest of the office leaders. The moment the last of the office heads had left, Giles spoke. "I think we can all agree that whoever is doing this has huge resources to simultaneously arrange twenty-five attacks across the globe utilising no less than sixteen different demonic species and organisations."

"Gotta be W&H," Faith opinioned, head shaking, "no-one else has the cojones or money to do this."

Vi shook her head. "What if it is the First like Angel said?" Vi looked towards him. "The First can't be killed, right?"

"Indeed," Giles smiled, at least one Slayer bothered to read something other than fashion magazines in Buffy's case and bike magazines in Faith's. "Evil lives within every one of us," Faith shifted uncomfortably in her seat; however his comment certainly wasn't aimed at her more than anyone in the room or indeed the building, "it can only be banished not killed."

"So it might have found its way back into this dimension?" Xander asked, a nervously pale sheen visible despite his son's tan.

"I think that unlikely," he opinioned. "Such an occurrence would have been noted either by one of our mages or one of the many seers or mages we're allied too."

Zabuto chuckled. "The reappearance of the First would be impossible to miss."

"It wasn't noticed last time," Xander pointed out.

"Yes," Giles pursed his lips. "But there's a number of the reasons for that. Firstly the last time the First attempted an re-corporealisation was tens of thousands of years ago. There's a theory that his attempt caused the Atlantean High Mages to engage him in battle, causing the sinking of Atlantis." Faith whistled. "The actual specifics of his return were lost in the mists of time, but we'd know what to look for this time. Secondly," Giles looked towards Xander, "although the opening to this dimension was caused by certain ill-advised magics, I theorise that it actually waited until everyone's attention was on Dark Willow's apocalyptic attempts before stepping back into this dimension."

"Sneaky bastard," Faith commented.

"Evil is often sneaky and duplicitous," Groo unnecessarily commented.

"And thirdly," Giles sighed, "the Council was rather more isolated in those days. If anyone had noticed the First's return, they might well have had no way to reach the Council and tell them."

"So if the First's out, we're back to Wolfram & Hart then," Xander commented.

"No," Giles shook his head. "Wolfram & Hart would have to be the foremost suspect admittedly, but we can't restrict ourselves to thinking purely of them and blind ourselves to the true enemy. There are a number of other suspects."

"Such as?" asked Groo. "I grow weary of this talking and wish to smite something!"

"Preachin' to the choir," Faith grunted. "My ass fell asleep long times ago."

"I'll fetch you a pillow to sit on if your behind's a little too delicate." Giles shot back before concentrating on Groo's initial comment. "Perhaps it's a fallen Higher Power such as Jasmine who's decided to take a more active interest in the running of this little mud-hole. Or a hell-god or goddess like Glory who seeks to conquer. Or even another Old One escaped from The Deeper Well, whose talents run more to Machiavellian strategising rather than straight out mayhem and carnage.

"I know why we keep you around G-Man," Xander shakily commented, "it's for your sunny disposition."

Giles chuckled. "As I've tried to explain before knowledge is power. And our first step must be to accumulate as much knowledge as possible. I therefore propose we send out two teams, one to the Deeper Well and one to Wolfram & Hart's NY office."

"Rog said the Slayers from the Deeper Well never reported in," Faith warned. "Anyone goin' there could be walkin' into a trap."

"I'm aware of that," Giles nodded. "That's why I intend to lead the Deeper Well team myself." Giles raised his hands as a shocked mutter ran through the room. "I'll hardly be going alone. Angel and Spike have experience of the Deeper Well and as everyone knows Willow is a considerable mage, in addition Kennedy will be accompanying us."

"Ha," Faith snorted. "Spike and Angel with Ken, should be fun."

"You'll be having some fun of your own," Giles replied with a tight smile before looking towards Xander. "Although I'm on the fence about Wolfram & Hart's involvement, the fact remains that thanks to their less than ethical approach to business, W&H's library far out-strips ours. There are certain books I'd like that might give us some clue to whatever is happening. You can pick your own team apart from those who are escorting me and with a proviso you take at least one Watcher with a more academic bent."

"Take Roger," Giles raise an eyebrow at Faith's surprising input. "he's a kinda ballsy guy."

"Okay," Xander nodded after a look at his girl-friend. "I'll take Graham as well, Dana, I guess I'll need a mage," Xander looked to Michael. "You in?" The mage nodded nervously. "Okay, that'll do. I assume you have building plans and the like?"

Giles nodded. "Speak to Dawn after we've finished the meeting, she'll supply any equipment or information you need. I'll speak to Roger about the list." Giles looked towards Zabuto. "Samuel, while we're away you're in charge. I'd appreciate if you had the academic department catalogue every attack and cross-reference for demonic species, target type, apparent mission goal, and geographical location."

"And what about the rest of us?" demanded Vi.

"Oh don't worry," Giles smiled sourly. "Whoever is manipulating the forces behind all this remains a mystery, we do know who the foot soldiers are, and I have certain plans to teach these foot soldiers a lesson in consequences."

"Sounds good to me," Shannon scowled.


	9. Chapter 9

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (9/?)**

Highlands, Scotland

Rain sheeted down outside, rattling on the roofs of their hamlet's huts. They lived far to the north, over twenty miles away from the nearest village, separated from them by mile upon of peat bog. They were completely self-sufficient, growing their own food, and caring for their own people with a level of herbal healing that rivalled the science of the modern world. Normally it was a hard but satisfying life.

Now though, the air was filled not only with moisture but with a bone-numbing fear.

Albion Halsen looked around the hushed hut, the only sound the rain thumping overhead. Each of the women and men sat in the room had the same worry he felt etched on their faces. "We all felt it," he said.

"Aye, my Caylie passed out with the force of it," Dedra shook her head, wispy grey hair dancing. "My head fair throbbed too."

"Can it mean what we think?" Carrick asked. "Can it truly mean that?"

Carrick was the youngest of those in The Inner Circle, just over thirty years old, so Albion supposed he couldn't blame his voice for shaking. Albion nodded. "It means it," he replied, voice redolent with sorrow. "The Council have come under attack."

"Don't Wolfram & Hart realise what could happen?" gasped Margad, the village elder's rheumy eyes filling with fear. "The auguries-."

"We cannot worry about the outer world," Albion interrupted. "We only have the power to concern ourselves with ourselves." He raised a hand at Margad's opening mouth, forestalling his protests. "I know, it is an imperfect solution, but should we involve ourselves in this great conflict, Wolfram & Hart would surely trample us underfoot. We have to concentrate on our own defences."

* * *

Togo

The sun blazed down on them, the unrelenting heat second nature to those of the Hoodoo faith. However in contrast to the searing heat, there was somehow a chill in the air.

Nenka looked around the faces of those who ruled the Hoodoo with her, seeing a desperation to be reassured what they all sensed was wrong. Unfortunately it was an assurance she could not in all conscience give. "The runes have been cast, what we have sensed has come to pass," Nenka announced, unable to completely conceal the fear that tremored through her. "The Wolf, Ram, and Hart have attacked the Council."

"What of Patch and Dark-Eyes?" queried Weke.

"Neither of them has been heard from," Nenka ignored her own disquiet at the mention of the Watcher and Slayer who'd negotiated their alliance with the Council.

"We cannot concern ourselves with outsiders now; our first concern has to be ourselves and our own safety."

"What do you suggest?" queried Baako; she was the oldest and most powerful of them, the leader before her.

"We move to the north, to the hills, to our hidden places, and we wait."

"Wait for what?" demanded Kushtrim, dark eyes flashing. "We should fight."

"No," Nenka found herself smiling even under these dark circumstances. How true to his name was Kushtrim. "The Wolf, Ram, and the Hart would slaughter us. Best to hide and hope for the best."

* * *

Romania

A portentous wind rocked the gaily-coloured Romany wagons, just as a wind of fear rocked the supernatural world. There were wagons from all five of the major clans, a rarity given the blood feuds between all five of them.

But some things were more important than centuries-old grudges.

There were hundreds of thousands of the Romanys in Romania, but only a few thousand truly followed the old ways. Most of those who did were here now, brought together by a joint terror.

"Should the Council fall then surely those who have defeated it will come for us?" argued Tavian of the Lovari clan, jowled face grey with the horror of recent events.

"Perhaps," Alin of the Boyash replied. "And perhaps we will escape their notice. However, the risk is too great to simply sit idly by."

"What do you suggest?" For the first time this afternoon Eugen of the Kalderash's eyes flashed with outrage rather than terror. "Our people were against this alliance with the Council in the first place! They have allied themselves with the blood-enemy of our people-."

"Angel isn't your blood enemy," Alin broke into his fellow Romany's rant, his diplomatic skills and patience tested sorely by the day's tension. "Angel is the innocent victim of your clan's ill-advised foray into the black arts. Angelus is your enemy, and one you should have slain rather than recklessly use the dark magics to torture an innocent soul with."

"How dare you!" Eugen rose, eyes flashing. "The princess was-."

"Please, your story is all too familiar to all of us. We've heard it enough times," Alin replied. "And it is not the centuries old troubles that concern us but today's problems."

"We cannot forget our pasts!" Eugen snapped. "It makes who we are!"

Dimitri of the Urasri only raised a hand, but such was the respect they all had for the eldest of their number, they all fell silent. "We are like the twigs in a hand, take one of us away and the one is easily snapped. Put us together and we can hardly be bent, much less snapped."

"What of the lesser clans?" queried Tavian. "Should they be invited?"

"Yes," Dimitri nodded after a second. "There is a strength in numbers."

Strength in numbers? Alin scowled inwardly. Perhaps, but he doubted there was enough strength in all of Romania should the Wolf, Ram, & Hart come for them.

* * *

Silicon Valley, California

"Here it is," Gene Rainey proudly brandished his DVD. Every rapt face in the shadowy hall was set, watching him. "A program that can accurately predict any event in any field if given enough data to do so. I've even tested it on eleven sporting events in the past month, eleven correct forecasts. Every boxing match in the right round, every race with the right 1-2-3, and every football and basketball game with the right score." He beamed at the others' muttered approval.

The night he'd met the vampire Angel had irrevocably changed his life. No longer was he content being a man of science, now he had to learn more about the supernatural. He'd tirelessly searched every occult bookstore, painstakingly separating myth from truth, and then even experimented with a few minor spells.

To embarrassingly find out he had zero magical talent.

He was in throes of a deep depression when he came across another book, far newer than most he'd read, that talked about a new movement of mages who'd sprouted out of the late sixties and used technology to mimic magic –the techno mages. Encouraged by this information, he sought the group out, and a year to the day after he'd almost ended the world, he found them fittingly enough in one of Silicon Valley's most tech-savvy areas.

He'd soon discovered that techno mages used complex technology, some twenty – fifty years ahead of the most advanced commonly available, to create force shields, fire balls, levitation, holograms, invisibility, remote viewing, and other things beside. They were a select number, clustered in the world's most high-tech cities. He'd risen rapidly in their ranks because of his superior mind, and now only David Nabbit stood ahead of him in the LA branch.

Gene looked up as the building's magical alarms went off, blood cooling. Who could find their base? Gene pulled his left sleeve up, whispering the voice-activation that made his invisible forearm bracelet materialise into vision.

Even as he did so, the door crashed open. Gene barely got his force-field up in time to block the hail of gunfire that came their way. Some of the masked men fell to hastily hired fireballs but more of his companions fell, blood soaking the walls and gunsmoke choking the air as Rainey flung himself out of the second floor window using the levitation program to slow his descent. The moment he hit the ground, he was turning and firing fireballs left and right, clearing his way out of the area, all the while consumed with one thought.

He had to find Angel, Angel would know what to do.

* * *

North-West Afghanistan

The air was dry and the sun unrelenting as they sat in a circle, watching the demon count the gold. Farrin smirked as the Mohra rose and looked around. For years they'd been running the heroin routes out of the country, building up their funds so they could fund this holy war.

Soon, the thousands of infidels would reap a reward of blood for their invasion. When news came of their slaughter, their Muslim brothers across the globe would rise up and drive the infidel from their lands before finally crushing them beneath the heel of righteousness!

Realising the head Mohra was approaching him, he rose, looking up at the towering demon, hiding his disdain for the monster, reminding himself that the creature and his brethren were essential for their plan. Mohra demons were assassins who dressed in a variation of a samurai's armour with green skin that was more like armour than flesh, adorned with spikes on either cheek and a red jewel in the middle of their forehead.

"The money is sufficient?"

"Yes," the Mohra growled a reply then smiled. "Unfortunately the rules have changed." Before Farrin had time to blink the Mohra's hand around his throat, squeezing the air from him, ignoring his hands flailing at the demon. "Now the entire human race has been deemed extinct."

* * *

Africa

"Turn and face the enemy!" Legate Wilfred's voice boomed out as he yanked his horse's reins. Sand flew up from beneath his steed's hooves as his horse charged around in a half-circle.

His sword flashed in the sun as he drew it, eyes fixed on the Wyvern-riding lizard men sweeping down on his troop. "The Serpent Cabal!" he whispered. He'd heard of them, a savage demonic race with a taste for human flesh and a fierce yearning to bring back the resurrection of the serpentine Old One, Set, and a return to the days when Egypt and the surrounding lands were his domain.

They were a fierce enemy, and his force was badly outnumbered, but they were the Knights of Byzantium, and to him that had always meant something. They stood for honour, bravery, chivalry. No matter the enemy, no matter the odds, they would fight to their last. "CHARGE!"

* * *

Greece

Cicre smiled as she watched the oblivious village from the shadowy woods on a far-off hilltop. "The Sons Of Hercules," she whispered, her heart tightening and curdling with hate. Even just saying the name made her hackles arise. For centuries they'd been a thorn in her side, upholding Hercules' beliefs in justice, and generally getting in her way.

But not again, not after today.

Cicre looked over her shoulder and smiled at the Fell Brethren amassed there. "Slaughter them, butcher every single one of them. Not one of them lives."


	10. Chapter 10

**Fic: Tilting The Balance (10/?)**

London, England

Giles looked towards Willow as they exited the teleportation tunnel to find themselves in the London office's bunker. "Willow, could you please check the building above for foreign wards."

Giles waited patiently as the wicca closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she concentrated. After about a minute she shook her head and opened her eyes. "No, there's only my wards up there."

"Thank you Willow," he smiled at one of his surrogate children before looking towards the two vampires lurking behind them, "Angel, could you and Spike go out and clear the grounds of any observers left there?"

"I should go with them!" snapped Kennedy. "We can't let them out of our sight for-."

"Young lady," Giles fixed Kennedy with a baleful stare. "You are an exceptional warrior, but even a Slayer is clumsy when compared to a vampire of Angel's age and experience. And even Spike, if he can keep his bloody gob shut."

"Hey!" Spike paused then shrugged. "No fair comment, I suppose." The English vampire looked towards his grand-sire. "We going, poofter?"

Angel sighed long-sufferingly. "Come on William."

* * *

"Bloody hell mate," Spike muttered as they entered the office's battle-scorched corridor, the stench of death, blood, and pain clogging the back of their throats as they crept through the corpse-strewn base. "That girl of Willow's doesn't like us does she?"

"What do you expect? Slayer, vampire, it sorta comes with the job, that's how it's supposed to be." Angel smirked at him. "Buffy and Faith are exceptions. At least Faith's an exception for me. And just are the old carrot and peas feeling now?"

Spike winced. "Low blow, mate."

Angel laughed softly. "So was Faith's kick as I recall." Angel sobered as they reached the outer hall. "There's no-one in the house."

"No-one living anyway," Spike agreed. "Nearest I can figure it the most we can check out the street and the grounds for anyone watching."

Angel nodded. "I'll take the grounds, you cover the street."

"What does that little sister Slayer of yours say?" Spike grimaced as they reached the lounge's shattered window. "Five by five."

* * *

Chev Donker peered through the tree's leafy foliage as he looked through his sniper's scope. He'd been watching the house as part of a shift for several days, waiting for any movement inside it. He'd been a sergeant in Belgium's Special Forces Group for seven years before taking W&H Paris' offer to join them in their special operations unit.

Doing so had opened him up to a world he'd never dreamed existed, demons, werewolves, vampires, zombies, and other monsters besides. But the money was very, very good.

He squinted as something seemed to shimmer out of the darkness-shrouded mansion. He almost thought he'd seen something. "Nothing there." He shook his head.

"Oh I wouldn't call me nothing." Chev gasped as he looked up, his rifle starting to rise only to be snatched away from him as his head was grabbed under the jaw and yanked back, neck snapping.

* * *

Angel watched dispassionately as the sniper dropped to the ground. He was the second man he'd found, one at the front, one at the back. He stiffened as he sensed his grand-childe drawing close and dropped from the tree, landing in a crouch. "Anything?"

"Yeah, there was a bloke lurking in the shadows of a pub, pretending to be drunk, couldn't smell a bit of booze on him, 'tho he did use Brut, so who knows? Snapped his neck and threw him in the alley." Spike glanced at the corpse by the foot of the tree. "You found one then?"

"Two actually," Angel replied.

"Ain't a competition mate," Spike retorted.

"You're only saying that because you're losing," he taunted as he strode back into the house. "I'll get the others, you find their," he nodded towards the corpse, "car and bring it outside the house then we'll drive to the rental place that Giles organised."

* * *

NY

Faith whistled as she craned her neck to peer up at the towering skyscraper, light glinting off its glass front. "That's one big building."

"I still say I should be coming in with you," Xander grumbled.

"Oh yeah," Faith shot him a scornful look, "'cause no-one's gonna notice the only one-eyed Scooby walkin' into the buildin' are they?"

Xander scowled at his girl-friend, he didn't like it when Faith used logic against it. "You're not exactly unknown or indistinctive yourself."

"True," Faith grinned as she pulled her tinted glasses on, "but come back when you've got a photo of me either with my hair up or wearin' a business suit." Xander grimaced, stymied once again. Faith looked around the cramped van. "Everyone knows the plan?"

"I'm a senior lawyer in their acquisitions department," Roger replied, his greying hair dyed black and his horn-rimmed glasses replaced by brown contacts, "young Michael is my junior, and you and the delightful Dana our personal assistants. Graham is our body-guard. We head into through the lobby," Xander shook his head, this was a very bad idea. Wes' dad noticed that and gave him a disapproving look before continuing. "And continue through there to their underground vaults, Michael dealing with any magical defences, Graham to deal with any technological ones. Once in the vaults, I select the most pertinent books, and we bring them out."

Xander decided not to give voice to his objections, it wasn't as if he had a better plan, and there was a certain audacity in walking through the front door. Xander looked towards the other two Slayers, both sleekly-muscled black girls in their early twenties. "Ada and Layla will stay here with me, and if you call for help, I'll send," he lifted up a remote-control sized object up, "an EMP pulse through the building, you hit the sewers and we'll hot-foot it to the fall-back position." Xander paused, a troubling thought occurring. "When we cut the electronics there might be people in elevators."

"Yes I realise there is that possibility," Roger countered. "However I'd be rather more concerned with out lives then those of people who'd lower themselves to either work for or employ W&H."

Xander grimaced then nodded. "Fair enough." They wouldn't be the first humans Xander had killed, there'd been the men operating a Slayer-auctioning business out of Cairo, a pair of Takaran assassins after his head for some reason, and a clan of in-bred cannibals. He'd just prefer being in the position of being able to make an informed position of those he killed, or at the least being doing that in either self-defence or the defence of his people.

Roger replied to his nod with one of his own. "In that case," the elderly Watcher took a breath, "we had best be on our way."

* * *

"You're sure your young man will stay on plan?"

"You can trust Xan," Faith tersely replied as they walked into the brightly lit, state of the art furnished reception lobby. She might get on okay with Rog, but that didn't give him right to question her man. Plus she might look smokin' in her high heels, black nylon tights, knee-length black skirt and blazer over a white silk blouse, with her hair up, and aviators on, but she was hardly Erin 'freakin' Brockovich.

Roger by contrast looked perfectly at ease in his charcoal grey pinstripe suit. Big surprise, Watchers were probably born wearing ties and carrying their library cards.

"As you say, my dear." Roger nodded brusquely. "Ms. Latimer," the man sniffed at her, the faintest semblance of a smile tugging on his lips, "I want those reports typed up and on my desk before you leave."

"Yes sir," Faith said, eyes narrowed. The crusty old bugger was enjoyin' playing 007.

* * *

"I'm sure they'll be alright, Xander."

Xander forced a smile as he tore his eyes from watching the building to look towards Ada. "I'm sure they will," he lied.

'Cause breaking into the HQ of Evil Inc was such a safe idea.

* * *

The Cotswolds

Clouds stretched over the silent forest, tree branches rustling in the night breeze.

"It's just up-."

Giles' gasp was muffled by Angel's suddenly cold hand over his mouth, Kennedy leaping to his defence, her hand streaking into her jacket to pull out a stake. "I can smell blood," Angel hissed.

Giles shuddered, his heart pounding as he nodded his understanding, the vampire releasing his grip and stepping away before Kennedy reached him. "You think the Slayers are dead?" he muttered.

Spike nodded. "Yeah, smells like it."

Giles' heart dropped, the guilt biting deep as always. As much as he hated the pain, he welcomed it, knowing if he didn't feel like this, he'd be one step closer to becoming Quentin Travers and viewing Slayers as largely disposable weapons. Four more dead girls to add to the Wall of Remembrance. "How many?" he hoarsely asked. Angel looked blankly at him. "How many waiting for us?"

Angel glanced at Spike. The younger vampire let out a muttered curse before melting into the darkness. Giles' heart jumped when the Billy Idol look-alike stepped back out of the darkness some time later. "Four Slayers and that bloke that turned you into a demon that one time?"

"Ethan?" All thoughts of guilt disappeared, replaced only by a cold rage.

Spike raised an eyebrow at his snarl. "Yeah, that'd be him."

"You three," Giles glanced at the Slayer and the two vampires, "deal with the other Slayers, Ethan's mine."

* * *

Faith snatched a hold of the thickly-muscled suit positioned outside the vault, her forearm looping around his trunk-like neck to cut off his blood supply in a heart-beat, the man sinking to the floor in seconds. "Excellent dear," Roger murmured approvingly. "Dana, Michael you're with Faith and I," he glanced towards Graham. "Mr. Miller, stay here in place of this chap that Ms. Lehane has so efficiently dealt with."

The soldier nodded silently before sitting on the recently vacated stool. "Mr. Czajak, see what you can do about the vault's magical locks."

"Yes sir." The youth turned to face the door, his jaw clenching with the effort and sweat dripping off him in less than a minute.

"Hey, Mikey."

Faith stepped forward to assist the swaying mage only to stop when he grabbed her forearm. "Your concern does you credit, Faith. But please, allow Michael to concentrate."

Faith glared up at the Englishman. "We might be gettin' on okay, but only Xan gets to put his hands on me without gettin' a receipt."

"Of course," Roger released his grip as if scalded. Beautiful and honourable Ms. Lehane might be, but one should never also forget just how feral she could be. Or at least one shouldn't, if they liked the use of all their limbs.

Finally Michael stepped back, the young mage's features haggard with exhaustion. "All alarms dealt with."

"Well done," he praised. These Sunnydalers were a wonder, Ms. Rosenberg of course was the most powerful witch in perhaps several dozen generations, but Ms. Madison and Mr. Czajak would have been near the top in many other generations, as indeed would Ms. Rosenberg's lover had she lived.

"Yeah great." Faith was practically bouncing on the spot as she and Dana put their shoulders to the vault's gleaming steel door and forced it open.

"Good gracious." Roger gasped at the rows upon rows of books, stretching back and to the left and right.

"Place is like a damn TARDIS." Roger glanced at Faith who shrugged. "I have a geek for a significant other."

"Ah yes of course," Roger's eyes crinkled with amusement. Whatever else Ms. Lehane might be, she certainly was entertaining. "I need 'Apocalyptic Prophecy'," he murmured as he walked from case to case, aging eyes peering through the half-light to read the signs on each case. "Got it!" He gasped at the selection of fifty or so books crammed onto a trio of shelves. It was a bloody scandal that Wolfram & Hart have some of these titles. Shaking his head, he stepped forward.

"Remember, we can't take the whole damn lot."

He smiled inwardly at Faith's comment and nodded. "Duly noted." He looked up and down, deciding on the three most valuable titles and snatched them off. "Let's -." Suddenly the cases upon cases of books disappeared and a quarter of scimitar wielding figures appeared. "Oh bugger."


	11. Chapter 11

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (11/?)**

Kennedy's heart was thundering as she charged into battle, fighting another Slayer was never something to be done lightly, and she hated to kill another human. "Give up," she warned the olive-skinned taller girl.

The girl flashed her teeth in response before leaping forward, sword backhand slashing left to right. Kennedy glided under the attack, her own arm and shoulder muscles writhing as she thrust her blade at her adversary's belly.

The other Slayer twisted away from her attack, a grimace parting her lips. Then she twisted back, like a rubber band snapping back into place, her own blade thrusting down at Kennedy's belly.

The moment the attack started Kennedy was moving away from it, leaping up and above her opponent's flashing steel, her foot kicking up at the other Slayer's face. Her eyes widened when not only did her rival manage to lean back and away from her attack, but also grab her ankle with her free hand and fling her to the ground.

Kennedy hit the ground on her shoulder but ignored the jarring impact to roll to her feet in time to block a sword slash hacking down at her neck just inches from its target. Then pain exploded in her left inner knee when her rival stamped her there, hurt flaming through the assorted tendons and ligaments. "Ahhh!" Kennedy screamed in fear and hurt as she fell to one knee, her rival looming over her.

And falling prey to the sword Kennedy thrust up and through her chest. Her eyes widened as the other Slayer buckled and fell away, revealing the two vampires advancing on an apparently oblivious Giles. "Mr. Giles!" she screamed as she leapt up. Ignoring the pain lancing through her leg, she raced over to the Watcher's side.

* * *

"Oh bloody hell," Ethan whispered as he watched the vampires and Slayer attack his companions. This was not going well at all. Deciding as always that cowardice was definitely better valour, Ethan readied a cloaking spell, knowing in his heart of hearts if Rosenberg sensed him, he was as good as-.

"Hello Ethan."

Ethan's heart sank as he spun around to face the voice's awfully familiar owner. "R…Ripper," he stuttered as his eyes confirmed what he'd hoped was a mistake, his former lover and the man he feared more than any he'd ever met. "It's-."

The fist that crashed into his jaw cut off his pleading, knocking his head to the side. His own right bounced uncaringly off Giles' shoulder as his former partner in crime lunged forward, a murderous expression on his face. "My girls!" he snarled, his fingers stabbing into Ethan's throat, choking his breathing off. "How many times do you have to be told?" A knee slammed into his gut even as he tried and failed to shove his former friend away from him. Bile rose in his throat as he doubled up. "Do not!" Hands grabbed his collar and flung him to the ground, slamming him face first into the dewy grass. "Attack my girls!" The cracking of bone echoed in his ears, chest raising off the grass when his old friend drove his heel down into the small of his back, back shattering under his attack. Then merciful darkness engulfed him.

* * *

Spike raised an eyebrow as Giles proceeded to put the boot to his unconscious country-man. "If we ever pay poker with Rupes, remind me to pay my debts, he's not a man to get on the wrong side of."

"Why should I?" Angel queried as he marched towards the Englishman. "You still owe me money from last time." Angel gabbed Giles by his shoulder and eased him away, ignoring the protective growls of the Slayer version of Mini-Me. "I don't think he'll be causing any more trouble, Giles."

"Pillock," Spike complained as he stopped and peered down at the bloodied man. "He's dead, Rupes."

The flushed and heavily-breathing Englishman stepped back, eyes blazing. "Thirty years too bloody late," he growled before glancing towards the Deeper Well's gaping entrance. "The Deeper Well, huh?" The Watcher took a determined step towards the entrance. "Let's be havin' you."

* * *

The four materialised figures were of the same race, Faith instantly decided. Slightly built and only of average height, the bipeds wore red cowled robes, their angular, dark-skinned faces peering out from under their hoods, purple slanted eyes glaring at them. "Oh my god!" Roger let out a gasp. "Drow!"

"Say what, Rog?" Faith kept both eyes on the monsters facing them.

"They're for want of a better word, elves," Faith rolled her eyes. Jesus, Xander had tried to get her to watch Lord Of The Rings once. He'd probably find this exciting. "Cave-dwelling, matriarchal elves who are un-remittingly savage and cruel, the best of their warriors hired out by their competing Houses as assassins, both for money and prestige."

"Great," Faith jumped back when one came at her with his scimitars, "a little detail on how to fight 'em would be kinda good right now!"

"They're faster than humans and have greater pain tolerance thanks to years of brutalisation during childhood and training, but they're not as strong as humans." Faith ducked under another slash, this one at her neck. "Their blades are routinely poisoned -."

"How do I kill them?" Faith snapped.

"Oh beheading," Roger said, "breaking bones will hinder but not kill them."

"Good to know. Dana, my left!" Faith lunged forward, twisting left and right to avoid the blades flashing at her, then she snatched up, grabbed her would-be attacker's wrists and held them steady while repeatedly driving her head into his bony face. On her third butt, bones breaking on the first, the other Drow lunged at her, only to take a kick to the stomach that folded him like a deck-chair.

Releasing her grip on the stunned Drow's wrists, she ducked under his sword-slashes, then came up with the gleaming letter opener, the only thing close to a weapon she had on herself, and sliced it across the elf's throat. Even as the dark elf fell, Faith was scooping up his plummeting blades and spinning to face the straightening other dark elf.

Just in time to twist away from a thrust to the face, the blade slicing hair away from her mane even as she charged into the counter-attack, blocking the other blade with her left blade while back-handing at her rival's throat with the other. The impact of the other's block jarred up and down her arm, but Faith ignored it to leap into the air and into a roundhouse kick that crashed into the other's face, spinning him and putting him down, before he could move, her blade was slicing through the back of his neck.

After checking Dana had dealt with her two rivals, Faith glanced towards Roger's shocked face. "What?" she demanded. "You expect me to offer him tea ol' bean?"

Roger shook himself then glared at her. "I'll alert Xander to send his EMP pulse," Roger peeked his head through the vault entrance, the elderly Englishman grimacing at the erupting noise. "Sewers for us I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Faith grinned as the entire building simultaneously went dark and silent. "Just 'cause we're in the dark don't make it a grope party Rog."

"Well really!" huffed the Englishman.

"I know you were thinkin' it, your son had to learn it from someone."

"Not funny, Ms. Lehane," sniffed Roger.

"I thought so."

* * *

"Good lord," Giles gasped as he entered what was known in the upper reaches of the Council as 'the graveyard of gods'. Graveyard no longer, for as far as the eye could see all that remained of the legend was torn-apart tombs, bone, stone, and dust littering the ground. "What manner of power could have done this?" he shook his head as he started towards the back. "I only hope-."

"Where you goin', Rupes?"

Giles ignored Spike's impertinent mutterings as he made his way through the stone laden ground, careful to keep his eyes averted from the desiccated skeletons littering the ground. He heard but failed to acknowledge Spike's grunted swearing, pulled to the cavern's rear by a will far, far stronger than his own. And then he was on a winding staircase that seemed to go on for ever, treading hypnotically down it, ignoring the ache in his calves from the seemingly endless walk, the pain in his knuckles from his scuffle with Ethan forgotten as his excitement and anticipation grew. The further and further down he clambered, the drier the air got, the cold chill of the upper level replaced by an altogether heavier climate.

And then they were stood in another cavern, its ceiling so high as to be invisible, lost in the swirling darkness that their torches couldn't breach. And so, Giles set about looking around the cavern, his breath catching at what he saw.

A skull from a hairy mammoth.

The skeleton of a Bunyip.

An age-browned map detailing the locations of antediluvian Lemuria, Thule, and Valusia, the first three civilisations of man.

A map of fabled Atlantis.

The famed Vietnamese sword, Heaven's Sword resting against a goblet that could perhaps be the Holy Grail.

A hardback, yellowed copy of The Sword Of Moses.

"I never knew this place existed," Angel muttered as they crept into the Deeper Well's underground repository.

"No, it's not commonly known," Giles forced his awe aside to reply, hungry eyes searching and memorising the revered items stacked throughout the vast basement. He'd seen so much in his time, but nothing compared to the wonders in here. Oh the treasures here, it was just a shame that nothing summonsed here was allowed to leave without the creator of the Deeper Well's permission. "Since the beginning of man's reign over earth, it's believed this place was created by an elder power as a repository of objects of power, of lost creatures, and forbidden knowledge-."

"Giles!" Willow let out a shocked shriek. "You need to see this!"

Heart thumping, Giles joined the two vampires in rushing over to the witch and the Slayer. "Willo-," Giles' voice disappeared in a croak, eyes widening in shock as his torchlight fell upon what the two girls were staring stock-still at. "Oh my god."

The table was round, and rudely-constructed, the oaken wood lacking any decoration save for a plaque at each seat, the seats replaced by stone coffins. Out of instinct, Giles began reading the names even though he already knew who the coffins must be. "Bedivere, Kay, Galahad, Lancelot,-."

"Bloody hell," Spike actually looked humbled for once. "The soddin' Round Table."

Giles stared at the table, eyes suddenly wet and a tightness in chest. How many times had his mother read him their stories as a child? Thirty of England's greatest heroes, warriors remembered twelve hundred years after their passage, and looked on as Britain's saviours in some future time-.

"Giles!" Excitement had replaced shock on Willow's face, the witch's eyes gleaming with excitement. "I could bring them-."

"No!" Spike roared a second before he could. "They've had their time, let them sleep 'til they chose to return!"

"He's right," Giles put before Kennedy could inevitably leap to his girl-friend's defence. "Let's not desecrate the tombs and memories of England's heroes. If we forced them to come back before their ordained time, they might not come back-."

"How do we know it's not their ordained time?" Willow challenged. "Maybe they were meant to have help."

"Yeah," Spike looked like he'd regained his usual cockiness, "you'd look right becomin' with a white beard and pointed hat, Merlin."

"I know I'll not be party to their desecration," Giles stared down his nose at the glowering witch.

"If not for them," Angel broke the tension, "why are we here?"

Giles forced his eyes away from Willow, bloody hell but she scared him some times, and looked towards the ensoulled vampire. "For the Oracle."

"The SQL language?" Willow looked as confused as he now felt.

"The what?" he shook his head as he headed towards the cavern's rear. "No, no. The Pythian Oracle-."

"From Greece?" queried Angel.

"No, the Pythia just 'round the corner from West Ham," he snarked as he cast his light left and right, searching for the tomb rumoured to be here, "of course Greece. Be warned, she was put here for the murder of her entire race, she believed that only she should be allowed to see the future. She's been imprisoned here since before the asencion of classical Greece, so I imagine she'll be a little irritated."

"Gee, you think?" Spike snarked as he stepped over the skelton of an unicorn.

Once again he summonsed the famed Giles patience to ignore the peroxide-haired pillock. "Given what I've read in 'The Classified Annals' Willow is the only one with the power to deal with her. I want you ready." Willow nodded, their apparent disagreement already forgotten. "Good," Giles crouched

It was Angel rather than Giles who answered. "It says 'Here lies Medusa-."

Giles shook his head when Angel looked inquiringly at him. "To the best of my knowledge although she's the origination of that particular myth, she doesn't possess that particular power."

"'Best of your knowledge?'" Spike shook his head. "Inspiring."

Angel continued. "'Here lies Medusa, Slayer-," Kennedy let out a shocked gasp, "Of Her People."

Giles glanced towards Kennedy. "She wasn't a Slayer, she wasn't human." He took a breath before glancing at his companions, Spike having taken up a position to his left, Angel to his right and Willow at the coffin's foot, Kennedy poised by her side. Then he took a hold of the worn coffin lid, the stone cold beneath his fingers and shoved it off.

"Tatarus!" The thing that came leaping out of the tomb was the stuff of nightmares. "Tatarus!" Long, thin face with gaping sockets where her eyes should have been, straggly, waist-long hair that stank of death, and a mouth filled with the sort of fangs that would make a vampire green with envy. "Tatarus!" Its body was unnaturally thickly-muscled, more apelike than human while the wings that bloomed out of its back reminded him of a bat's. "Tatarus!" And then the creature was flying out of the coffin, its mere passing enough to fling him and the vampires to the ground, quaking before its millennia-old evil, their wills unable to stand before it, its scratchy voice whispering obscenities in their minds even as it screamed out the one word again and again. "Tatarus!"

"I don't think so." Willow stepped forward, a look of grim determination on her face, Kennedy, he'd never loved that infernally impertiant girl until that moment, clinging to her lover's side, palely shaking but defiant. An eye-wateringly brightness blossomed out of the witch, engulfing the screaming Oracle and then dissipating as quickly as it had erupted, the creature's bones clattering to the ground.

"Well done," Giles managed as his heart returned to something close to its normal pace.

"You're welcome." Willow smiled as he rose, her forehead suddenly creasing. "What was the word Medusa was screaming?"

"Tatarus? A particularly nasty primordial deity, the sort of creature that pre-dates the creation of the universe. I shudder to think how he's tied into all this." Giles sighed as clambered to his feet and looked up, remembering the draining journey down. "I do wish whoever had built this place had at least thought of putting a lift in."


	12. Chapter 12

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (12/?)**

Buenos Aries, Argentina

The boardroom gleamed from the light blazing in from the sun, the men sat around the wide table all uniformly white and all in rapture as their leader began to speak, truly he was his grand-father re-born. "This is the opportunity ODESSA has been waiting for!" Their group's leader slammed his fist down on the polished table and half-rose out of his seat, his sunken cheeks flushed with excitement. "The world teeters on an abyss. Uncertainity rules, moral decay is everywhere! Our forces are ready, our politicians bought, our enemies silenced by fear or blackmail! Now is the time for the Fourth Reich to rise and strike! Let the Jews, Gypsies, and blacks tremble before their masters once more! Let us re-take-."

Suddenly the door burst over and a trio of scaled monstrosities rushed inside, the screams of hell following afterwards.

* * *

The Alps, Switzerland

Henrich Voller rubbed his hands together, his thick gloves scant defence against the mountain's chill. He cast an envious look up at the sprawling mansion behind him, its thick stone walls rather better at keeping the warm in than his jacket.

This wasn't the first time he'd been here in his capacity as bodyguard to one of Germany's biggest newspaper magnates. The place was a frequent meeting place for members of the notorious Bilderberg Group. In his time, he'd seen many a world leader and famous banker chauffeured past its front gate, even the occasional movie star turned UN Ambassador or pressure group campaigner.

It was unusual though, these meetings were usually organised at least a month in advance, but his employer had only been informed him about this one three days before. And there was the other stuff, normally his boss was a bellicose, boisterous type, but recently he'd been far quieter.

The change would be refreshing if it wasn't so worrying. Henrich's eyes narrowed when he casually glanced towards the mansion's gleaming gate, only to note the missing guard from the post to the gate's left.

An itch started in the back of his neck as he reached into his jacket, the normally reassuring feel of his MP-5 failing to calm him. Something was wrong-.

The last thing he knew was screaming pain, his attacker on him before he had chance to draw his gun.

* * *

Greece

The waters sloshed softly around Dion Yannis' white-washed boat, its sleek lines proudly proclaiming its pedigree as it bobbed out at sea, anchor laid several miles out from dock out of the range of any possible listening devices.

For there were many who would wish to eavesdrop on the members of the Nine Unknown Men, a group of power dating back over two thousand years. They were different from other conspiracy groups, Dion mused as he poured his guests' drinks, not men of power or money, although they had some of that, but men of science, who truly cared not about gaining more power but advancing humanity's progress and understanding via their technological genius.

Of course the money made on the side was glorious.

A beep from his sonar had him apologetically hurrying away from his guests and into the cab, eyes passing inquisitively over the radar. "What's up?"

The sailor he'd directed his question to shrugged. "The sonar must be faulty," the sailor pointed out of the window in each direction, the sea quiet for miles to see, "it keeps warning me we're being approached but nothing."

"A submarine?" queried Doni.

"If it is, it's a small one, five or six people at the most." The sailor replied, the craggy-featured man's eyes narrowed as he stabbed at the display. "It's broken, according to this it's on top of us-."

"Or," Doni felt his mouth dry as a sickening realisation hit him, "under us! Get us out of here now!"

Then the ship shifted under him, flinging him into one of the cab's sides. "Move!" he roared, his voice hoarse. "Mo-." His voice choked when he saw a browny-green tentacle fly out of the water, the tree-trunk thick feeler slapping wetly against the ship's side as it grabbed a hold. Blood roared in Doni's ears as he shot frantic looks around, everywhere he looked was bedlam, more and more tentacles flew up out of the water, either grabbing a hold of his ship or swinging up to crash into his fellow group members and fling them into the water.

Then steel and wood began to buckle as the kraken's grasp tightened, the ship cracking as it plunged under water, the sound of wood snapping and his friends screaming the last thing he ever heard.

* * *

Romania

Dracula raced through the old-fashioned town, unable to believe what he was forced to do. Ever since he'd visited Sunnydale, and presented a foppish exterior to the gullible Summers, he'd reaped the harvest of being thought of as old, but no particular threat, left alone to gather his power should he be attacked.

All his grand plans, crushed to nought.

It had started at dusk, several hundred Scourge demons had arrived at his castle and laid siege to it. No, not lay siege, swarmed it in a heedless rush to take it. And in just a few hours it had fallen, its mighty walls crumbling, his servants slaughtered.

And his vanquishers in hot pursuit.

He'd killed many that night, slaughtered them in pairs and trios, but soon it would be day again, and he had to find somewhere to hide. Even as he looked fearfully into the sky, spying the gradually rising sun, several Scourge burst into the street before him.

"Curses!" Dracula howled his fury as he bounded into a street to his right, only to find it blocked by a trio of Scourge. Realising he didn't have time to turn and race back out, he accepted the challege and leapt on the trio.

In seconds one was falling dead to the floor, his throat torn out by Dracula's teeth. Another came at him with a cleaving claymore, but Dracula wasn't there when the blow arrived, stepping under and then outside it, his claw ripping up to tear his adversary's face off, his foot coming up in a back heel kick to crash into the third demon's chest, knocking him across the alley, as the second fell away, face ripped to shreds.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, Dracula spun to face the Scourge demons charging into the alley, noting with dismay their number, but also noting the passageway's narrowness meant they could only come at him three at once.

And once again battle was joined. He twisted left and right, claws rending air and flesh in equal measure, his enemies falling before him even as their swords and axes cut at him, leaving him a patchwork of wounds. But finally the last of them fell. Dracula slumped against the wall, his body aching from the countless wounds assailing him, the ground underfoot awash with his rivals' blood. He had to get out of here before any more of the basta-.

Then he realised the sun had finished rising during his fight and burst into flames.

* * *

Italy

"You are a fool!" laughed Capo di Luigi as increasingly venomous insults shot back and forth the boardroom table, their impalements in turn exhorting their recieptants to yet more insults.

"No!" hissed Capo di Flambara, his pointed ears prickling indignantly. "You are a fool if you think the Flambara family will ever yield to you!"

"Fools both!" roared Capo di Valenia. "I name you! This feud is getting in the way-."

"This feud is the least and the last of your worries." All warring voices fell silent as a very familiar figure strode in, the handsome playboy smirking slightly. "The Goran Clan, still bickering after all these years." The Immortal smiled. "I suppose it's fitting though that you die doing what you did throughout the majority of your existence."

"Die!" screeched Capo di Garouta. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh didn't I say?" the Immortal threw his head back and roared with laughter. "When I walked in here I was carrying a posion on my body-." Capo di Tutro keeled over, his skin more green than its usual. "Yes, you feel it now don't you, all of you?"

* * *

Arashmaharr

"Noooooooooooooooooo!" D'Hoffryn wailed his fury as he sensed more and more of his servitors slain by the invading force. Who would dare have the terminty to invade his own, to even try and slay him.

He spun around as the door to his quarters crashed open. "Grand Master Oscuro, you dare?" D'Hoffyrn gasped.

Six of the seven invaders were human and carrying their 'guns', but it was the seventh who captured his attention. The humanoid demon was short and stocky with functional rather than showy muscles, he could almost have passed for human save for the ridge of horns seperating his hair down the centre of his head, blue skin, and staring red eyes. "These humans have the most marvellous weapons don't they, truly ingenious. They're a very dangerous people, what with their intuitiveness and invention, but then you learnt that when they drove you and your ilk out of their dimension in the Demon Wars." The nigh-legendary founder and ruler of the Takaran Order smiled. "Of course to deal with one such of you, requires one of my power."

"You are nothing to me!" D'Hoffryn struggled to regain his poise. "Try anything and I'll slaughter you where you stand and kill every single one of your descendants for a hundred generations to come."

"Yes," Oscuro nodded. "Yes I suppose I am a little over-matched." There was a flash of teeth in the humanoid's tattoed face. "But as a distraction for my Soul Eater teleporting in behind you with posioned blades, I did rather well."

D'Hoffryn gasped. "Soul-." Then all he knew was pain erupting in his lower back and neck, two enscolled knives simultaneously thrust through flesh.

* * *

Atlantic City, New Jersey

Lorne's hands shook he exited the club he guested at via its rear entrance, his heart pounding so hard, his ass throbbed. He shot nervous glances into the alley's encroaching darkness as he hurried towards its end. Yes he had to get in touch with Angel, Angel would know what-.

He stumbled back when a tinted-windowed limo screeched to a halt at the alley's entrance, blocking his escape. Sweat streamed down his face as he turned, expensive shoes splashing in the narrow-passageway's muddy puddles, then reared back in horror at the smirking face before him. "I killed you!"

"So you did." Lindsey's smile widened as he raised the shotgun in his hands and tugged on the trigger. "My turn." The alley echoed to the gun's hoarse boom, the force of its explosion knocking Lorne on his back, his legs and arms suddenly weak. Above him he could hear approaching footsteps. "Gentlemen," his killer looked towards the nearing men, "decapitate and hack this piece of crap to pieces."


	13. Chapter 13

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (13/?)**

Death Valley, California

The heat that had her companions soaked with sweat failed to affect Illyria in the slightest. Such trifling discomforts were the problem of lesser beings such as those who trailed in her wake, the shadow cast by the hill they were marching around somewhat blocking the sun's glare but not its power.

"That's right," Kate's complaining pant interrupted her, "don't wait for us."

"If," Illyria turned and faced the former peace officer, impaling her with a glare, "I had a choice on this matter I would not. Unfortunately I have been tasked with your protection."

"Well," drawled Connor, "that's now how I remember it."

"Then," Illyria turned her gaze on the night-walker's offspring, "your memory is in error."

Connor shot her an amused smirk. "Yeah, that'll be it."

Illyria ignored the youth's tone. If she acknowledged it the only answer could be one of violence. Being here was an irritation, but a necessary one. Mr. Giles' plan was a good one, at least as good one could reasonably expect from plankton. While his and the one-eyed Watcher's teams sought out leads on what was behind the assaults on them, she and others would lead attacks on major players in the demon world, hopefully muddying the waters of just what their response was, and reaping a bloody harvest of kills. Yes, a daring and ruthless plan, a barrage of feints to conceal the true strike. Rupert Giles was a most innovative and commanding man. It was little wonder that her last Qwa'ha Xahn had esteemed the man so much.

Her team's assignment was a perilous one, an attack on nothing less than the camp base of the Vinji and Sahrvin clans. Fortunately she'd been supplied with the troops sufficient to do the job, in addition to Connor, Groo, and Kate of her own team, all worthy fighters even if they did occasionally bristle under her leadership, she'd been given fifteen Slayers to command.

Not true Slayers of course, only Summers and Lehane felt as true Slayers to her, the others, those Called by Sunnydale's fall felt somehow different, the same and yet muted as if their power had thanks to the manner of their Calling not reached their full blossom. Still, she'd seen them fight and they were competent enough, each at least the equal of Connor.

Illyria paused as she reached a steep embankment, its ash-white sand seeming to almost gleam. Illyria's brow furrowed as her senses reached out, then finally she nodded. "I sense our enemy over this ridge. We will wait here until night-fall and then attack. Remember your tasks and positions, this will be a glorious battle to sing of."

"Indeed."

Illyria glanced at Groo, suspecting irony. But then she remembered the Pylean wasn't capable of such. Even as alien as she was to this land, he was even more divorced from it, and yet more content in his position in it.

In that he was very much an enigma to match any this world had challenged her with.

* * *

Bavaria, Germany

"So, this putting the band back together thing? Didn't think it would end with us getting so wet."

Riley Finn chuckled at his best friend's comment. "Been watching the Blues Brothers again?"

"Hey," Graham's eyes glinted with amusement, "I'm not the one running a busy Council House, I get time to relax."

Riley chuckled again. Somehow he doubted working as the Council's armourer and head of security was quite as simple as all that. "Is everyone in place?" he sobered as he returned to business.

"Yeah, we're waiting for the word from you." Graham's tone was all-business.

"That's cool," Riley nodded. Riley's gaze turned to the 14th century gothic-styled castle stood in the Alps' shadows. The building was ironically enough the base for the Scourge in much the same way Germany had been the cradle for Nazism seventy years earlier, one supremacist replacing another.

At least until tonight.

The castle had three entrances, the portcullis at the front and wooden doors to the right and left. The plan was simple enough, under the cover of darkness they'd placed explosives on each of the side entrances, the doors' guards having fled inside to avoid the night's persistant, lashing downpour. On his word, they'd blow the doors and teams led by him and Graham would rush inside, Sam staying outside with her team posted by the woods to the north of the front entrance either to head off any attempt at reinforcement, or prevent the Scourge from fleeing.

Simple enough, but still, every general worth his salt knew that plans rarely lasted beyond a battle's onsent.

Riley forced himself to relax. "Get your troops into place, we move into action in ten minutes."

Graham nodded. "I'll be waiting your signal."

* * *

The Himalayas, India

Buffy coughed and pouted as she made her way up the steep foothill, arm wiping at the sweat building on her forehead even as she stamped angrily at the grass underfoot. It wasn't right, her being relegated to a diversion team! The Board should have put her on, no make that made her leader of one of the important teams.

And why wasn't she on the Board anyway? There wouldn't be a Board or even a Council without her!

Buffy huffed as she started back up the hill. Instead she was here in the middle of nowhere, leading a team on an attack on the Sisterhood of Jhe. Buffy shivered suddenly at the memory of their desperate battle in the school all those years ago.

"Are you alright?"

Buffy beamed up at her long streak of black manliness. "Fine thanks," she replied. At least this time they were prepared. Wood might not have the knowledge of Giles, but he was a far better fighter, Amy was a pretty good witch, and the fourteen Slayers she had backing her up more than made up for Angel and Faith's absence.

Of course, Andrew waddling at their rear probably cancelled all their advantages out.

Buffy sighed as she looked up into the mountain's shadow. Fortunately the map they had indicated they wouldn't have to go much higher to find the caves where the Sisterhood dwelled. And from that moment on, it was the sort of carnage she revelled in all the way.

* * *

Houston, Texas

Vi stared at the walled ranch, long shadows cloaking it. "I don't know," she drawled, her hometown accent thickening in her tones as it always did when she got anxious. "This is an U.S. Senator we're assassinating."

Beside her Rona sighed and shook her head. "You were on the Board that okayed the report about W&H's Genesis Project, you know this is really a demon."

"I know," Vi nodded. The Genesis Project had been created five decades ago, an audacious program that had involved the kidnapping of over a hundred children of well-off and highly-connected families, and replacing them with demons in their children's forms. Now their children had reached maturity and taken advantage of their family's resources to gain influential positions – ambassadorships, senators, state governors, presidential advisors, and congressmen all numbered amongst their graduates. It was a program they'd only become aware of through the defection of Angel and his murder of Senator Bruckner. Of course, not all of the hundred had made it to the top, but enough had to give them an undue influence on American life.

At least until tonight. Tonight, Giles had ordered a cull. Throughout the nation a dozen or so 'accidents' were going to occur, houses blowing up, car accidents. Tonight, the Council was going to roar and show W&H its teeth.

"I still can't believe Sarah Palin isn't a member of the Genesis Project," Justine Cooper commented.

Vi giggled at her fellow red-head's comment. "Justine, you're here with the rocket launcher if the senator manages to escape, Rona, you take your team over the left wall, my guys will go at the house from the right."

"Yeah," Rona nodded, "we're gonna stick it to the man!"

Vi sighed and shook her head. "Just for that, you can't hire Malcolm X for movie night again. Ever."

"Censorship, whitey always looking to put a sister down."

Vi was beginning to worry about her best friend's sanity. "Or hire Shaft." At Rona's pout she relented slightly. "Oh alright, you can rent the remake."

Hey, she liked a bit of Samuel. L. herself.

"The remake?" Justine shuddered. "You really don't like each other do you?"

* * *

Death Valley, California

The moment shadows had fallen, Illyria sprang to her feet, her companions rising from under the ledge they'd hidden under. "You have your teams," Illyria nodded at the three Slayers who'd she'd grudgingly allowed to be assigned to her side, the other three team commanders each getting four. "I will lead the attack. Kate, you have your rifle, you and your Slayer Shooters are to snipe from here."

"Understood," the former detective nodded.

"Groo, come in from the right, Connor from the left." Illyria looked around. "I will attack now. You attack the moment you reach your positions, it will add to the confusion. Once we have slain the chiefs, Kate will cover our retreat with this." Illyria passed Kate's team a pair of XM312s. "Try to resist the temptation to fire these until we've left the camp."

"Was that a joke?" Kate smiled wryly.

"A passing attempt at battle's eve," Illyria replied. "Once we have cleared the ledge on our way out, we will all retreat back to where the jeeps are secreted and head back to the base."

* * *

Bavaria, Germany

"Omega in position."

Riley forced himself not to start when his friend's voice crackled in his ear-piece. "Beta in position," Sam's voice sounded a second after, his lover's hand doubtless on the XM312, just waiting to cover their retreat.

Riley took a breath as he wiped away the rain spilling into his eyes and stared at the worn door some four hundred feet away. This door had seen the passing of centuries, history's heroes and villains had doubtless passed through it. Did he really have the right to destroy it?

Telling himself it had already been desecrated by the presence of the beasts inside it, he lifted his detonator and placed his thumb just over the detonation button. "On three, we detonate. One, two, thr-."

* * *

Himalayas, India

Buffy scowled impotently as she crouched down behind a flowering shrub and stared down the dust-floored valley to the cave entrance where the map said the Sisterhood of Jhe lived. A statement backed up by the two hulking demons stood loitering by its entrance.

Buffy pursed her lips. It was twelve hundred feet to the monsters, a distance she could run in under twenty seconds, but still far too long to prevent either one of the demons from sounding an alert. As much as she hated it, she was going to need help from the Slayer-Shooters.

Buffy turned to the two markswomen that she'd been forced to take. "Can you make the shot?"

Both girls, they were twins, the only pair Called, grinned. "Sure we can," one of them drawled in an Australian accent. "Pa was getting us to shoot this far 'fore we were ten!"

"Fascinating," Buffy just about managed not to sniff. At ten she was entering beauty pageants, forget Slaying they were savage! "You'll need armour piercing and head shots-."

"Don't try to teach your grand ma to suck eggs," muttered one of the girls, "this bush should be enough cover for both of us-."

* * *

Houston, Texas

"We're in position."

Vi's taut whisper crackled in Rona's earpiece, prompting a smile. Her best bud was such a worry wart, but she wouldn't change her for all the world. "Roger, we're hittin' it." Rona threw her grappling hook, grinning as it fastened on the top of the eighteen foot wall, the two Slayers on her team duplicating her action. Then she took off at a run, racing up the wall with only the cord of the grappling hook to support her. Then she was leaping over the wall, drawing her pistol crossbow as she dropped to the ground, her fellow Slayers flanking her.


	14. Chapter 14

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (14/?)**

Death Valley, California

Illyria felt none of the trepidation she knew the shell had felt before a battle. In fact she felt nothing but focus, a sharpening of her senses as she reached the camp's outskirts, her hands reaching behind her back to draw her twin blades. Her left sword slashed out, taking the head of a Vinji, her blade ripping through her rival's neck, blood showering her as the headless corpse fell to the ground.

Another Vinji leapt at her, its teeth parted in a snarl. Blood exploded from its open mouth when Illyria skewered it through the belly with her right sword, then casually flicked her wrist, sending the monster flying into two more charging at her, the trio crashing to ground. Her ears filled with battle's familiar sounds – the screams of the dying, the relieved bellows of the living, and the crash of weapons.

Even as she relished the carnage, a trio of demons charged at her, their iron-headed spears leading the way, probing threateningly at her. "Unacceptable," Illyria's blades slashed inwards, taking the heads off each of the spears, leaving the weapons nothing more than jagged edged staves.

Before any of the trio could react, the Slayers flanking Illyria were on them, slaughtering them with an efficiency that Illyria found admirable. If there were half a dozen or so of them, they might even have a chance against her. "Onward," she ordered as she ducked a Sahrvin's sword slash, the demon's turban and robes whistling in the night's wind. The moment the sword had passed overhead, she rose and jammed her right blade through the demon's neck, while back-hand slashing another Sahrvin's head off with her left, yet more blood showering her.

Yes, it was most pleasing to have enemies to slaughter.

* * *

Bavaria, Germany

The sky briefly illuminated as the door exploded inward and then Graham was up and running in ahead of his girls, his Slayers knowing to hold back until they were inside. His Mossberg 590 bucked in his hands as it spat fire at the two guards stumbling out of the ruined door, the body of a third already lying dead and slightly burnt on the passageway's stone tiles.

His bullets tore through the duo, ripping them apart, and knocking them on their backs, blood pumping out of them as they convulsed in their death throes. The moment he was past the bodies and over the castle's threshold, he started barking out orders. "Charla! Gita! You take the right passageway! Carin! Krista! Take the left! Angela! Rose! Stick with me! Whatever you do don't get split up and listen for the," a door swung open, the sound of Graham's shotgun firing filled the air as he plugged a pair of Scourge demons full of holes, "retreat signal on your ear pieces."

* * *

Himalayas, India

"Three, two, one!"

The moment Wood reached 'one', a pair of muffled shots whispered out of the markswomen's silenced rifles, the heads of the two Sisterhood demons exploding in bloody sprays a split-second later, the corpses dropping soundlessly to the ground.

"Well done," Buffy grudgingly complimented before stepping out from behind the corner she'd been hiding behind. "Teams, you know your places and our objective, it's very simple. We kill as many Sisterhood demons as we can."

* * *

Houston Texas

The vampire exploded into dust when Rona's bolt smashed into his chest. Then Rona was racing forward, swaying away from another vampire's haymaker to kick him on the outside of his knee, knocking off balance as she stepped around him, leaving one of her team to drive a stake into his heart.

Rona hit the ground as gunfire erupted, rolling up and behind a stone fountain. Her heart thundered as she re-loaded the crossbow and peeked her head over its rim. "Who in the hell brings a crossbow to a gun-fight," Rona mumbled a complaint, "no I had to be traditional." Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the Uzi-wielding female vampire stepping out of the house, the idiot silhouetted in the light coming from the house behind her. Rona came up on one knee, arm swinging up as the vampire twisted towards her, her finger tugged on the crossbow's trigger, then she was diving back down, grinning as rather than a barrage of bullets she heard the vampire's shocked gasp and the distinctive sound of it dusting. "She shoots, she scores!"

Leaping up, she started for the house, her team-mates trailing behind her.

* * *

Death Valley, California

Illyria snarled as the Vinji Matron charged her. The demon towered over her by a foot and her thick build meant she was twice the host's weight, added to that, the second of Illyria's swords had broken in the throat of the Matron's last bodyguard.

Illyria's laugh cut through the battle's din. It wouldn't even be a close fight. "Slayers, keep anyone from interfering. I will attend to this."

Illyria swayed away from the Matron's club-sized fist, her foot coming up in a kick that crashed into the Matron's rounded belly, eliciting a grunt and knocking the gargantuan female back a step. Illyria lunged forward, eager to press her advantage, her adversary blocking a haymaker on her forearm, the blow's thudding impact showing in the shock on her simian features.

And then the Matron's other fist crashed into her forehead like a spade to the head. "Unacceptable," Illyria scowled as rather than stumble away from the blow's impact she leapt forward, her fists a blur as she pounded at her rival's torso, even the parried blows garnering pained grunts from her rival.

Suddenly the Matron lunged forward, her twisted lips parted in a scream. Illyria leapt to meet her adversary only for the Matron to sidestep her attack and drive a thundering hook into her midsection. Air gusted from Illyria's lungs as she doubled up, feeling the Matron's hand in her hair, she straightened before she could be yanked up, her elbow driving back and into the Matron's hip even as spun into a clockwise leg sweep that took the demon's legs from under it.

Sand billowed up as the massive demon crashed onto its aircraft-carrier sized back. A snarl on her lips, Illyria spun to face her rival and dropped knees first on its thick chest. "Do not!" Her right fist smashed into her rival's mouth, teeth flying and her jaw shattering under the impact. "Think!" She slapped away a hand grasping at her neck before driving her head down and into her adversary's nose, bone splintering and blood shooting out. Before the demon could do so much as yelp, her head was driving down again and again, turning the demon's features into a bloody mess. "To challenge!" Her hands snatched at the stunned demon's broken jaw and the top of her head, then twisted, the she-demon's head coming away in her hands. "An Old One!"

Illyria rose with a smirk; the Matron's head would make a worthy trophy. Her glee turned to irritation as she noted one of her Slayers fall to the ground, blood pumping from her leg. It appeared she'd need both hands to carry the wounded. Dropping the demon's head she strode to the wounded Slayer's aid. "Call the retreat, our business here is at an end!"

* * *

Bavaria, Germany

"Damn it!" Riley flung his Mossberg down in frustration, realising he wouldn't have time to reload before the Scourge demons racing through the banquet hall's far end reached his escort and him.

The banquet hall was long and wide; tapestries of the coats of arms of the medieval lords who'd once dwelled here hanging on the left and right walls, wood beams bracing the high ceiling. It was a place that had doubtless seen a lot, but probably not a battle like the one going on right now.

"Chao-Ahn!" Riley bellowed as he grabbed the long dining table's near end. "Help me-." The table hit the stone-paved floor with an approving crash. "Tip the table on its side." He finished with an appreciative nod as his Watcher House's most experienced Slayer flipped the table over. "Well done," he'd barely pulled out his Browning Hi-Power when the first of the demons reached the table he'd crouched behind, the gun bucking in his hand as he blew its head off, brains and blood spewing out of the back.

Another shot took the head off another, but before he could re-aim another had scrambled over the table and grabbed his gun arm, twisting it. Face contorted with the pain, Riley swung his left into the demon's jaw with little effect, a final twist causing his gun to fall from his grip even as he drove a knee into the demon's groin.

"Should have tried that first," he grunted as the demon released his grip and stumbled backwards. Riley dropped into a crouch, hand reaching for his dropped automatic only to lean away from an attempted kick to the face, hands shooting to grab and yank the foot, the over-balanced demon falling on his ass.

Riley lunged forward, hands reaching for the automatic. "Oh hell!" he changed his lunge into a sideways roll when another demon kicked the gun away and stepped into his path. Before he could make his feet the demon had his hands around his throat, choking him. "Uggggh," Riley grunted and gurgled, muscles writhing as he clamped his own hands around the choking hands and vainly tried to loosen them, the demon's power far over-whelming him.

And then an axe hewed into the demon's trunk-like neck, blood bursting out as it buckled and fell to the ground, its grip on Riley's neck falling away.

"Thanks Chao-Ahn!" Riley gasped through his raspy throat as he snatched up his shotgun and yanked it open, hand dipping into his ammo belt for more shells. He'd re-load on the run.

* * *

Himalayas, India

Buffy ducked under the Jhe demon's axe cleave, her own sword coming up and gouging a deep, bloody furrow through the demon's belly. The Jhe howled but came on, its greater weight knocking her back and into the dusty stone wall.

She was so glad she'd dressed down for this patrol. All the blood and gore was going to be murder to get out of her clothes.

Sparks ignited as she sidestepped a downwards axe swing, the impact of the axe colliding into the wall wrenching it from the demon's grip, sending the weapon clattering to the ground, Buffy's own sword slicing up and through the demon's throat before it had time to react.

Another demon rushed out of the darkness, this one had a studded mace. Buffy's heart raced as she readied herself for its onslaught.

And then a shot rang out, a bullet crashed into the demon's head, gore spewing from its head as it fell backwards, dust rising as it crashed to the ground. Buffy spun to face the shooter. "I had him!"

The Slayer-Shooter smiled at her. "You're welcome."

"Younger generation," Buffy scowled and shook her head as she continued down the darkened tunnel. "No respect. Not like the good old days."

* * *

Houston, Texas

Wood splintered under her kick to the door, the bedroom door swinging open to reveal a darkened chamber. Vi's heart pulsed as she cast a light into the room and started in. "Now where you be hidin' you all?" she queried.

"Here dear!" Vi spun to her right as something charged her from that direction, its heavy bulk crashing into her before she had chance to set herself. The collision's impact knocked her into a bedside table, the table and her falling to the ground. Vi's lungs burnt as she struggled for air as she reached blindly for the table lying behind her, eyes fixed on the approaching silhouette. Grabbing one of the table's legs, she swung it up and into her attacker, wood exploding as it hit home, the demon staggering sideways.

The distraction gave her the time she needed to jump up to her feet. And then she was jumping to her left as her attacker charged her, elbow shooting out to crash into the side of his head. The demon staggered again, Vi leaping behind him to grab him in a triangle choke hold.

At least that was the theory.

"Oh no!" Vi gasped as strong hands grabbed her forearm, the demon leaning forward and flinging her face-up onto the bed, Vi instinctively rolling away from a kick to the face and back up into a cat-like crouch from which she leapt, hitting her rival full on, knocking the two of them to the floor. Vi had the briefest glimpse of the surprised Senator's face, and then she grabbed the back of his hair and repeatedly drove his head into the stone floor. The moment she judged him out enough, she drew her K-Bar and drove the knife into his throat, the sharpened blade punching through his flesh with ease.

"Well," Vi wiped the blood off as she rose. "Guess we're finished here then!"


	15. Chapter 15

FIC: Tilting The Balance (15/?)

"Ah, Rupert, I'd like to have a word."

Giles glanced up as Roger rushed into his office. "Of course Roger, only could you be quick, I have the Board meeting in just a few minutes."

Roger nodded before dropping into the chair opposite him, the older man's piercing eyes boring into him. "Rupert, I feel I must protest your involvement in field work."

"Oh?"

Giles' voice chilled from his previously warm greeting, but Roger ploughed on regardless. "You have responsibilities, Rupert. Our troops, the other Watchers, and these girls all look to you for guidance. Your place is not in the field, not anymore."

Giles shook his head. "I'm sorry Roger, but I'm hardly going to follow in the footsteps of Travers and his ilk, and hide behind the skirts of girls not old enough to vote!"

Roger met his glare with one of his own. "Not all old school Watchers were desk-bound mandarins."

Oh good lord, Giles winced inwardly as he realised his mistake. Roger had served as the Watcher to not one, but two Slayers in the early to mid sixties. "No," he spluttered, "I never meant to infer-." Recovering his poise, he shook his head. "I appreciate your concern, however I cannot in good conscience allow others to fight in my place. My place is in the field."

"May I point out, if anything happened to you, it would be catastrophic, both in the short and long term. Morale would be utterly shattered, you're a legend." Roger snorted. "If I had it my way, every single one of your Scoobies would be retired." Giles' mouth opened. "Yes I know, Ms. Rosenberg, Summers, and Lehane would be utterly wasted outside of the field. But you're our leader Giles, the glue that holds this place together. Should anything happen to you, this organisation would almost immediately fall apart. I hate to think about the in-fighting that would follow your vacating of the Chairmanship. Your value isn't in the field, it is behind your desk, steering our ship, organising more treaties, ensuring things continue running as smoothly and as fairly as possible."

"Surely you exaggerate," Giles blustered.

"Bloody hell Rupert, how can you be so blind?" Roger challenged. "There's factions in this organisation who are very unhappy with the decisions you've made. Allying us with various friendly demons. The abolition of the Cruciamentum. Giving Slayers parity with Watchers. All your efforts at modernising. It's only the backing of the Sunnydale contingent that keeps them quiet and you in place. Should anything happen to you, would you really want a return to things as they were? A complete undoing of your work?"

Giles stared at his counterpart, bitterness. Finally he nodded. "You have a point, I'll certainly consider it."

"Good." Roger rose at his admission and started to the door before halting and turning back to him. "Rupert, you're no longer a young man. Should we manage to muddle through this crisis, it would behove you to consider grooming a successor to take over in five to ten years."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "I trust you have a candidate?"

"Young Mr. Harris," Roger half-smiled at Giles' choked gasp. "Yes I know, he doesn't have the necessary degrees, but good lord, he's been in the field since he was a child, and he's perhaps the only man the Slayers hold in greater esteem than you. The boy's got nerve, empathy, and a good deal of common sense. He just needs honing."

"Good lord," Giles shook his head. "It was a struggle to get him to open a bloody book now you want me to train him as my protégé?"

* * *

Giles nodded as Pike came in and took his seat, the last of them arriving closing the door behind him. "Thank you for coming," Giles greeted as he took his seat. "As you've probably heard, our visit to the Deeper Well unearthed some disturbing information. This, together with Xander and Faith's successful raid into Wolfram & Hart would guide me to believe the Wolfram & Hart are attempting to rise Tartarus-."

"I beg your pardon?" Zabuto gasped beside him. "You can't be serious, none of them, not even their senior staff would survive that!"

"It would appear that the Black Thorn have stepped in," Giles explained.

"Hey," Faith raised a hand, "for those without the benefit of a snooty degree, who in the blue hell is Tartarus?"

"Apologies," Giles nodded. "I should have clarified. In Greek mythology, Taratarus was a hell even deeper than lower than Hades, the Greek underworld, a worse hell."

"So not the PG-13 version?" Faith queried.

"Oh far, far worse," Zabuto added. "The 'edited' tales of Greek mythology that are commonly peddled today fail to do its horror justice."

"Oh goody," Xander grunted.

Vi raised a hesitant hand, the shy Slayer still nervous at these meetings despite all the years she'd served as a board member. "I remember the myths from my Potential studies," she commented. "It's not just a place is it?"

"No," Giles shook his head. "It's also a primordial force, one of those birthed at the start of the universe, pre-dating even the Old Ones and the First." Giles paused, the weight of what he was about to share with the others weighing heavy on his chest. He'd spent much of the morning researching in The Restricted Archives, the heavily guarded library of the Council's most dangerous papers, a room that only he, as Council Chief was allowed access to. Within its musky walls were books detailing the foulest necromancy, summonsing of the deadliest, powerful demons, dispassionately-written records of the rogue Watchers and secret Council atrocities, and the forbidden texts detailing the world's hidden history and secret origins.

It was there that Giles had found the awful, terrifying truth. "Tartarus was an untamed force, by far the greatest force in the universe, it tore through world after world in a nigh uncontrollable rage, slaughtering any and all that tried to stand before it, and ruthlessly pursuing any who fled. It took the combined force of those we consider the Pagan Gods, the Old Ones, and the First to chain and imprison Tartarus and his army-."

"His army?" Pike queried.

"It appears that Tartarus is responsible for tales of Nephilim, fallen angels. According to what I've read, he has legions of them." Giles paused. "The aftermath of this war between Tartarus and rivals was so wide-spread that dozens of worlds were left lifeless, some even turned to rubble, and the Pagan Gods so weakened, they were helpless to prevent the Old Ones from turning on and slaughtering them. With the Old Ones imprisoned and the First for now gone, should Tartarus be unleashed he and his army won't face any resistance capable of stopping them, they'll slaughter the entire universe."

"What's the plan, G?" Faith queried. "You've got a plan, right?"

"The beginings of one," he replied, shooting the shaken beauty what he hoped was a comforting smile. "The papers I read made mention of a Salvation Key that was used to lock the prison that Tartarus was forced into, his followers can be freed by dark enough magics, but he can only be freed by the key. We must keep the key out of the hands of W&H."

"And how do we do that?" Zabuto demanded.

"We've made many allies over these past few years." Giles sunk back into his seat. "Our primary mission must be gathering these allies to us, attacking W&H, keeping them off balance, preventing their attacks, and finding the Key before they do."

"Any chance you know where it is?" Faith queried.

"No," Giles shook his head. "But I know who discovered it after the fall of the Old Ones. The Honoured Protectors, a chivalric order who eventually metamorphosed into the Knights of -."

"Byzantium," Xander interrupted with a groan.

"Yes," Giles smiled tightly and nodded. "That was precisely my reaction too."

* * *

Knightsbridge, London

"This malt is really quite magnificent," Rutherford Sirk, formerly of both the Watcher's Council and Wolfram & Hart, commented as he took a long sip.

"Glad you approve," growled his host. "However, I didn't have you hear for a tasting."

"No, of course," Sirk shook his head. The club he was in was opulent to say the least, at first glance it appeared to be the same as any club that England's most rarefied gentry would frequent. Its pastel walls were adorned with lavish paintings depicting heroes and leaders from England's rich history, a fluffy carpet was stretched across the floor, the chairs they sat upon sheer leather, upholstered luxury, and while they supped at the finest of drinks they also basked in the warmth from the room's mammoth fireplace.

However, despite all appearances this wasn't a mere drinking club, but the base of the Hellfire Club, a several centuries old institution that consisted of some of England's oldest and finest families, who all utilised the dark arts to further their careers in business, politics, or the judiciary. And it was a club that thanks entirely to the current troubles hoped to force itself to still greater heights. "You were asking how the Council would react," Sirk took another sip as he glanced around the men sat encircling him, savouring their lined faces expectantly hanging on every utterance. He didn't have the lineage of these august elders, but because of his inside knowledge of both the Watcher's Council & Wolfram and Hart, he finally had a place at the high table. "It is a large organisation, and like any large organisation will react slowly. But Rupert Giles is a decisive man, and once he has decided on his course of action, he won't retreat, he'll attack." Sirk pursed his lips as he recalled the intense young man who'd so bedevilled the Council three decades ago. "He can be a ruthless -."

BRRRR! BRRRR! BRRR!

Every one looked around, faces paling. Who could break into their building? Sirk was half-way out of his seat when the hall's oaken doors flew not just open but off their hinges to crash against the far wall. His blood froze and eyes widened as a horde of Satharis rushed through the opening.

It seemed they'd made their move far too late.

* * *

Monsignor Alain Blanc glared at his second in command in the demon-fighting department. "The Key?"

"We believe the knights have it," his second replied.

"Believe?" he snapped.

"They're not exactly forthright with information," his second replied. "However certain amongst our seers believe-."

"Enough," Blanc interrupted with a snarl, distaste filling him. Seers, he still convinced they were devil touched. "What of the recent attacks on the Council? Do we have any idea if any of the Roman Catholic Slayers were hurt in these attacks?"

"I'm not sure sir, information is very sketchy."

Blanc nodded. "A shame," he muttered. "If the Council falls apart, we might be able to scoop them up, use them as a weapon."

"But," his second looked horrified, "they have demonic power."

Blanc glanced at the younger man, briefly chagrined when he realised he'd spoken aloud. "That can be gotten around," he soothed. "We can say they were Chosen by God to carry the power and its attendant responsibilities." It was an unfortunate reality that in these matters, compromises frequently had to be made, and the Slayers were too useful and too powerful a tool not to be used by the Holy Church in its fight against evil.

* * *

Faith glanced across the busy but shrouded in grim silence canteen as she sensed a very familiar presence, a smile slowly spreading across her face as she recognised the tall figure loitering uncertainly by the canteen's entrance. "Wicked," she drawled, "Fang's here."

"Oh joy."

Faith ignored Xander's muttered comment to half-rise and wave her friend over. The vampire nodded slightly, Faith's eyes widening slightly as she belatedly noticed the weedy looking geek beside him. The vampire glanced to his companion and spoke, the man nodding before following Angel across the canteen. Faith winced as practically every other Slayer bristled at the demon's entrance. She wanted to crack their heads together, but realistically she couldn't blame them. Every one knew the legend of Angelus and every Slayer could feel the dark power flowing off her friend. Every vamp she'd met bar Kakistos paled into insignificance next to him.

"Faith," her friend greeted her with a small but sincere smile, "glad to see you came out of your mission okay."

"Ditto," Faith nodded towards a pair of chairs at the end of the table then looked towards Angel's mystery guest, eyebrow raising inquisitively.

"This is Gene Rainey, an old friend of mine from LA," Angel replied in answer to her silent question. "He met up with us on the way in. He's a Techno-Mage."

"Techno-," Faith's brow furrowed as she remembered where she'd heard the name before. "Holy shit!" She pointed angrily at the suddenly wilting techno-mage. "Holy shit! I remember that forum of yours Xander showed me. You're the sick fuckas who write B\F slash. Just 'cause we're a coupla of supernatural babes, that's all that matters, right? Doesn't matter neither of us have swung that way or that B's always treated me like the shit off her boot does it? Fuck!" Faith shook her head.

Gene gulped. "Eh, oh-."

Angel looked from her to his companion. "Um, they're just stories, Faith."

Faith shot her mentor a scorching glare. "Just stories my tight ass! They're degrading porn written by horny lesbians or sad boys who can't get laid!"

* * *

"Degrading porn," Kennedy muttered with a speculative look after Faith as the dark-eyed beauty stormed out, "can someone get me a copy?"

"I'll put them on a USB stick," Andrew promised. "The bondage stories are..." The nerd wilted under Xander and Angel's combined glares.


	16. Chapter 16

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (16/?)**

Wolfram & Hart, Boardroom.

"McDonald," Holland Manners nodded at his junior. "Report."

"Yes sir," the deceased former traitor nodded before beginning to talk. "We've confirmed the incursion at the NY offices was by the Council." Lindsey grimaced. "Specifically we've identified Faith Lehane, Dana Dejado, and Roger Whyndhm-Pryce."

"Whyndhm-Pryce?" Holland raised an eyebrow. After all these years it was a surprise to hear a name from so long ago. It seemed Wesley wouldn't be the last of his line to blight the firm after all. "What did they take?"

"That's still being investigated," Lindsey's scowl deepened. "They blew the vault on their way out, so a number of files and texts were destroyed or rendered unidentifiable in the resulting fire."

"Huh," Manners shook his head. "I trust the head of security has lost, well his head?" His disgruntlement wasn't lessened by his junior's nod. "And the attack on the Cotswolds?"

Lindsey licked his lips. "The Deeper Well was breached. Again, we're unsure what if anything they took. We'd not even begun an inventory." Manners shook his head. The loss of Rayne was unfortunate if only for his insight into Rupert Giles, but the Old Ones' tombs had been destroyed as an offering to the one that was to come, that was the important thing. If they'd managed to steal anything that could be a threat to them, well they'd deal with it. "On a personal note, I executed the demon Lorne successfully, his head decapitated and his body mutilated."

"Good," Manners grunted. That was at least one piece, a minor one, off the chessboard. The demon's role as a guide for Angelus might have become irksome to the smooth running of their plans, but now he was gone…

Manners glanced towards Ms. Morgan. "And what of our other targets?"

"D'Hoffryn, Dracula, the Hellfire Club, Nine Unknown Men, Bilderberg Group, and ODESSA have all been eliminated with minimal losses," the lady lawyer replied in her usual smug, almost a sneer, tone.

"Excellent." Manners nodded. Some of the slain were actual threats, others like the Nine Unknown Men and Bilderberg Group were people of power and influence whose deaths would only add to the confusion and terror the one that was come feasted upon. And as for minimal losses, he couldn't care less if the losses were minimal or complete, just as long as they got the job done. For a firm with W&H's resources there was always more canon fodder to be had.

"Sir, the Council has struck back hard, many of those allied to us have taken heavy losses," Lindsey commented.

Manners nodded but didn't bother to pretend any concern. "We're in a war, there will be losses. Speaking of which, instruct our forces to hit the secondary targets. We want the Council isolated and alone."

* * *

United Nations Building

"The attack has been confirmed?"

"Yes sir. Our intelligence sources have confirmed the meeting place has been destroyed."

The UN Secretary-General closed his eyes as a shiver ran up his back. If not for the recent crisis in the Congo, he'd have been at the Bilderberg meeting, and now doubtless listed amongst the dead. Opening his eyes, he stared at the head of the highly unofficial and secretive United Nations Defence Agency, an organisation culling its members from over three dozen nations and operating on all the major continents. "What do we know?"

The man, a tall slender Oriental in his late forties shuffled from foot to foot. "Not a lot sir," the man finally admitted. "After the attack, the perpetrators burnt the place down, it was ablaze by the time the locals got there and the attackers long gone. Local police are still shifting through the ruins, but forensics have come up with some anomalies."

"Anomalies?"

"The corpses of some of the security men discovered outside the building had unexplainable wounds that looked like they'd been created by some sort of unidentifiable beast. In addition there were some genetic discrepancies."

"Genetic discrepancies?" The UN Secretary-General's heart tightened even as he requested clarification.

"DNA that they couldn't identify," the security service head shrugged. "They're guessing that the samples were somehow corrupted. At least that's all they could come up with."

Of course it was. The UN Secretary-General stared at his subordinate in mute horror. Unlike the man stood before him he knew the truth of the horrors that stalked the night, but for them to attack so brazenly, to strike in so blatant a manner…. Could this be the end of days?

Shaking himself, he licked his lips and glanced towards his personal assistant. "Olga, phone the British and American Ambassadors. I want them both in my office within the hour."

By god, he was getting some answers come hell or high water.

* * *

NATO, Brussels

The Chairman of the NATO Military Committee peered over the top of his glasses, glancing around the hushed, wood-panelled boardroom, the wall opposite dominated by a screen showing news reports from over a dozen nations, all concentrating on the same foul business. "Is there any more information coming out?"

"Sir," one of his bright young hopefuls, a British Colonel in his mid thirties, spoke up, "according to our man in the ground, there's agents from most of the major players on the ground, in addition to ourselves. The British, Israelis, Japanese, Saudis, Russians, Interpol, and Americans."

"And no one seems to be hiding anything?" The Chairman sighed at the man's shake of the head. "And what about the rumours of the other groups being hit?"

"Sir," it was a rather lovely Captain from Italy who spoke, her English as flawless as her long, Pilates-sculpted legs, "you understand it is difficult to get information on such groups, however we believe ODESSA, Illuminati, the Nine Unknown Men, Priory of Sion, and Epsilon Team were all attacked." The Captain paused. "There may have been others, but we're reasonably certain on them."

"Reasonably certain?" His chair creaked as he sunk back into it, brow furrowed in thought and lips pursed. ODESSA was of course no loss, he'd long since chaffed under the restrictions of international law that prohibited him from slaughtering the lot of them. The other groups though. The creases in his forehead deepened. The other groups were made up of some of the world's most influential people in the fields of politics, law, science, and economics. Attacks on such people could destabilise the entire-.

He glanced towards the man sat at the far end of the table. "I assume the markets are down?"

"Yes sir, uncertainty about several of the missing CEOs and politicians has knocked between five and ten percent off the markets in England, Germany, the US. and Japan."

All the major markets then. He leaned forward in his seat. "At this point in time we should be putting a plan together, but can anyone tell me what one needs to formulate a plan?"

"Information sir?"

"Information!" He slammed his hand down on the walnut-coloured desk before him. "We're squirreling around in the dark like we're blind! We need information, people! Whose doing the attacking? What are their motives? Is it one group or several? How are they managing to target their prey so accurately? What are their resources? Where are they based? Who is financing them? Whose still on their target list-."

"Sir," it was the Italian captain. "We can't answer any of those questions, however the computer department has run a analysis on who 'might' be their next targets based on who is already believed missing or dead and your name came very high. We recommend you double your personal guard and restrict yourself as much as possible to this building."

A cold hand gripped his gut. It was never easy to be told someone wanted you dead, especially when the mystery attacker was apparently efficient as this one. "I'll take that under advisement," he nodded brusquely to hide his displeasure. "And I want anyone else who came up on this list warning."

"Sir," the captain pursed her full lips, uncertainty filling her dark grey eyes, "a number of the names the computer came up belong to citizens living in or working for foreign nations hostile to us."

"Everyone." The Chairman didn't even have to think about his answer. "Even those hostile to us, we can't afford any more chaos."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Hana Gartner, and you're watching the fifth estate," Hana peered through her glasses at the teleprompter. "Tonight it is my duty to bring to you what is certainly the strangest story in the long and storied history of this program. Yesterday in Hamber Provincial Park, hunters found a trio of what they are claiming to be Yeti corpses." Hana paused. "Before you run to check your calendars, this isn't a joke. We at the fifth estate have exclusive footage of these corpses, but be warned what we are about to show you is extremely gory."

* * *

"Hello this is Trevor MacDonald," he smiled into the camera. "Tonight on 'The Tonight Program', the strange story of a massacre in Dorset. Just yesterday police discovered the corpses of over a dozen dismembered women in one cottage, these women, according to local rumours, were alleged to experiment with herbalism, New Ageism, and even witchcraft."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Larry King and this Larry King Tonight." He glanced at the prompter and wiped his uncustomary sweaty palms on his pants beneath his desk before continuing. This was one of the biggest stories he'd ever reported on, but it was wrong, it could end his career. "For years, groups like the Nine Unknown Men, the Bilderberg Group, and the Hellfire Club have been the stuff of dime store novels and conspiracy theorists. But now, this program can report that a number of very high level people reputed to be members of one or other of these or other like-minded groups appear to be missing." Larry leaned into the camera. "These are influential people, high-ranking politicians, wheelers and dealers in the global money markets, influential diplomats, and media moguls."


	17. Chapter 17

**FIC: Tilting The Balance (17/?)**

Greece

Barely dried blood had turned green grass copper brown, the stench of smoke from the gutted, burnt-out dwellings still tenaciously clinging to the air not quite enough to hide the smell of death. Not that you needed an actual smell, dismembered corpses lay everywhere, horrified expressions on each and every face, man, woman, and child, everyone slaughtered with no exceptions.

"What happened here?"

Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the whispering, pale-faced Slayer behind her. Several of her escort had already thrown up, but she couldn't blame them, not when she felt like vomiting herself. "It was the Fell Brethren," Wood said, her lover's face as grim as she could ever recall seeing it, "I found some recent tracks leading out of the village, followed them to a brook. There's a newly dug mound there. I did a little digging," the Watcher winced, "there's a horde of Fell Brethren corpses there."

"A horde?" Buffy shook her head. "However many there is, it isn't enough." She'd been the obligatory Slayer representative on the treaty talks three years ago, a boring job to be sure and this place hadn't been her idea of luxury, but the Sons of Hercules, a chivalric order that profoundly believed in Greece's mythological past and held itself to its heroic ideals, had been an ally that had independently hunted Greece's demons for centuries. Heck, it had been Giles' theory that the order had been set up in response to Kakistos' depredations.

'Course then she'd had to ask what depredations meant. Geez, why couldn't he say raids like everyone else?

"Looks like Giles guessed right," Wood commented. "They're knocking off our allies, seeking to isolate us before coming for us."

"Oh goody, can hardly wait." Buffy looked around. "Okay, we're withdrawing-."

"What about these people?" gasped one of their escort. "Shouldn't we bury them-."

"They're dead, there's nothing we can do for them now, staying here only puts us at greater risk," Wood firmly replied. "What we need to do now is concentrate on helping the living."

"Including us," Buffy paused. "Actually especially us."

* * *

Libya

The arid sun burnt down on them, sapping the moisture out of the air. For as far as the eye could see was nothing but sand dunes, simmering in the day's unrelenting heat.

For humans it was hell on earth, but for The Cult Of The Dragon it was paradise. Thermo peered out at the approaching party, his violet eyes far superior to a human's. "Conceal our forces and tell them to be ready. Remember, the Scribe lives, but everyone else dies, no escapees."

The next few minutes passed with unbearable slowness, an uncommon sweat trickling down his scaled forehead. Finally their rival was in position.

Thermo leapt out from beneath the dune, sand flying everywhere as his claws jutted out of his fingers and powered through the lead horse's neck, effortlessly severing his jugular, blood spewing everywhere. The horse's rider pitched forward, seemingly leaping at him in a forward dive designed to take him out of the fight.

However Thermo simply glided away from the attack, his claws slicing up to rip chinks out of the side of the knight's chain-mail hauberk. The knight hit the sand with a shocked cry, but then managed to roll away from Thermo's slash at his throat. The knight continued his roll, finishing when he came up onto one knee, his hand shooting down to the sword scabbarded by his side.

"Ahhhh!" The knight screamed, falling on his back as Thermo's claws gouged out his eyes with a single savage slash. Thermo easily slid inside the warrior's now blindly wielded blade and thrust down, stabbing through the man's leather gorget to punch through his throat, the thrashing knight's mouth dropping open, blood spewing out to splatter Thermo's face.

"YESSSSSSSS!" Thermo let out an antediluvian scream before straightening, eyes scanning the battlefield. Already victory was assured, the combination of surprise and the advantageous climatic conditions swinging the fight in their favour.

* * *

Brother Castiel wiped at his forehead, sweat pouring off him, only the iron discipline of one of his order keeping him ramrod-straight on his horse. This trek had been a taxing one, taking them over hundreds of miles of some of the harshest terrain known to man while wearing 'light' battle armour. It was an arduous journey for an order that had only recently undergone a torturous re-building after the Glorificus debacle, but a very necessary one to protect the person they escorted.

Castiel's eyes narrowed when something stirred in the sand to his right. Curiosity filling him, he leaned over his horse's muscled flank to examine closer.

"By lord Jesu!" He gasped and reared back as the sand exploded upwards and a five foot something green-scaled lizard humanoid launched itself out of the sand and at him, dangerously long claws slicing at him, tearing the hot air just inches from his face. The beast landed, bent his knees as if ready to leap again, then let out a loud scream, forked tongue darting from its toothy mouth when Castiel's sword sliced down and through its left arm, an orange fluid that he guessed was the creature's blood jetting from its stump as it stumbled around, wild caws erupting from its open mouth.

His heart thundered as he looked around, dismay filling him at the sight of his fallen comrades in arms, the battle already lost. An icy vice in violent contrast to the dry furnace they found themselves in gripped his gut as he tasted ashes in his mouth. He could stay, fight, and die, or he could flee and hopefully alert those they were on their way to meet about what had happened.

"Celero!" His heels dug into his steed's flanks, the horse neighing and leaping to the right, carrying him away from the viciously fought battle, ashes forming in his mouth at the discordant wails of dying friends.

* * *

"One escaped?" Thermo queried as he peered down at the tracks leading away from their ambush, their foes' corpses lying throughout, the dry desert eagerly drinking of their salty blood.

"Yes," his second, Flamma nodded.

"Who was supposed to take him?" Thermo demanded.

An uncomfortable second passed before Flamma replied. "Celosia, the knight took her left arm, but she will be alright in the hour."

Thermo took a moment to digest the news. Draconians could re-grow severed limbs and recover from a fatal wound to anywhere bar the head in a matter of hours. "No," Thermo shook his head as he made his way over to the named demon, raised a casual claw and sliced her head off. "She won't."

Celosia's blood hit him in the face, a savage satisfaction filling him. "What of the escaped knight, High Priest?"

Thermo savoured the wariness in his second's tone. Good, it was only fitting that his people understood the importance of hierarchy. "He has nowhere to flee to," Thermo finally responded. "Even if he should be some miracle reach help, it would take him days to do so, and our mission will be completed by then." Thermo's eyes narrowed, burning into his second. "We have the Scribe?"

Flamma nodded jerkily. "Alive and untouched."

Thermo's lipless mouth stretched up into a smile as he looked over to see the archivist the knights had supposed to be guarding. He was quite unlike his wide-shouldered, powerfully-built guards, a spindly armed man with just a few wisps of grey hair and watery eyes. Yes, he tried for a look of defiance now, but Thermo could smell his fear, he stunk of it.

He wouldn't take long to break. "Get him to the caves. I want that location, if he dies before we have the information, you will serve as an outlet for my frustrations."

Flamma blanched at his warning. "As you say High Priest."

* * *

"Fuck me," Faith cursed as their sand-painted Hummvee growled up the side of a dune, sand flying left and right, their wheels digging deep into the sand, "it's hot!"

"It's the desert," Dana responded.

Faith shot her protégé a glare but managed to contain the angry snarl that anyone else would have gotten for making such an obvious comment. "I know, but man this is hot!"

Xander scowled at her comment. "Yeah it is," Xander tapped the car's temperature gauge, "I mean this desert is considered one of the hottest places in the world, but this is reading at 52 degrees, which is hot even for here."

Faith shot her boy-friend a concerned look. "Thinking this might be apocalypse related?"

Xander shrugged, sweat running down from beneath her lover's eye-patch, man that must itch like a fucking son of a bitch. "It's a possibility."

"Why are we here Mr. Harris?" asked one of the three Slayers sat in the back of the jostling car.

Faith hid a grin at Xander's sudden grimace. Man, her guy just loathed being called 'Mr. Harris', but some Slayers were so in awe of him as an original Scooby, they couldn't call him anything but that. "A mystic contacted the night before last, warning us that the Knights needed help with something, they couldn't specify what, just that it was bad and pressing."

"The Knights don't exactly get on with the Council do they sir?"

'Kay, now she needed to change her underwear she was laughing so much. 'Sir' was about the only thing Xan hated bein' called more than 'Mr. Harris'. "The Knights are on our side, it's more personal than anything," Xander replied.

Yeah, all amusement died at the thoughts of their attempts to kill Dawn. Saving the world by killing an innocent? Faith was no philosophical major and she didn't have a problem killing humans when the situation called for it, like when they were trying to kill you or end the world or do some black magic shit, but how the hell did you do anything but corrupt a world by slaying an innocent in its name?

"But those problems are in the past, right sir?" pressed one of the girls.

Xander's answer took a heartbeat longer than she'd have liked. "They're allies-."

"A rider!" Dana's arm jabbed through the space between Faith and Xander, the troubled Slayer leaning forward, eyes gleaming excitedly. "Look!"

"Ah hell!" Faith grunted as she noticed the rider hanging limply over his horse, the stallion itself staggering. "He looks outta it."

"That he does," Xander muttered as he pressed on the accelerator, coaxing just a little more speed out of his car. "But my worry is, where are the rest?"

* * *

"Just drink slowly."

A husky voice was the first thing he noted upon awakening, the next was the ice cold nectar trickling into his mouth, the third, the face of the beauty cradling him, concern lighting her dark eyes. A name for her shot into his mind and sprang from his mouth in a croak before he could censor. "Angel."

"Boy," an one-eyed man came into view, an amused look on his face, "are you ever barking up the wrong tree. In all so many ways."

One-eyed man. Castiel gasped, head raising from the girl's lap as he peered up at the younger man. "Xander Harris?"

"My fame precedes me," Xander grinned down at him.

"More like infamy," grunted the brunette.

Castiel forced away the weariness ravaging and sat up, slowly turning his swimming head around to survey his surroundings. They were sat by the side of a SUV, cocooned in its sparse shadow. To the SUV's rear a pair of girls had drawn up a bucket of water for his exhausted but oh so loyal steed, Celero drinking happily at it as another pair of girls stroked the sand off his flanks.

"What happened?" rasped the dark-eyed woman, she had to be the notorious Faith Lehane, Harris' ever-present companion.

"We were on the way-." His breath caught as violent memories flashed before him, the smell of blood and screams of dying comrades assailing him until he shook with their aftermath.

"Hey," Faith husked. "It's okay, you're with us now, but we kinda need to know."

"Yes, of course." Castiel might be the last of his Order, but until his dying day he was a Knight and would conduct himself with the honour and bravery expected of his order. "We were on our way to meet with you when we were ambushed by some sort of lizard people. My people were slaughtered and I was all that was left. The man we were escorting will have been kidnapped, he alone knew the whereabouts of the Salvation Key, we need it!"

Xander and Faith exchanged a look. "You want something to eat?" Castiel nodded mutely, the dark-eyed beauty glanced over her shoulder. "Dan, get me a couple of health bars will yah hon?"

Castiel nodded his thanks at the girl who passed him the bars. His weary body barely able to tear open the health bars, he slowly talked as he ate.

* * *

Xander climbed out of his car, solitary eye fixed on the slaughter before them. Hewn corpses lay through the desert, their blood long since sunk into the sands. Behind them he could hear the Knight groan a death dirge to his fallen companions.

"We're too late," Faith muttered beside him, shotgun and eyes moving constantly.

"Yeah," Xander agreed. "But we'll have to go after them. We need that Key."


End file.
